One Small Step

By Paul G Mann

A normal day, Charlie is out shopping, looking forward to a night out with his mates, and lunch with his girlfriend. What happened to him, he could never say; one minute he was happy and carefree, the next he took one small step into a nightmare. The nice buildings of his home town had gone, replaced by rot and decay. The place was lifeless, seconds ago people thronged the shopping area with a constant buzz of talking and traffic noise. Now nothing stirred, not a sound except for dripping water and crumbling masonry echoing in the silence.
Fear, panic and despair reduced Charlie to a nervous wreck, he tried but couldn’t get back, was he trapped in this nightmare forever? His mind raced with imaginary terrors as panic swept through him. He had nothing, just the clothes he stood up in, nothing to keep him warm, nothing to eat or drink, and no transport. All the things he took for granted, gone in less time than it takes to draw a breath.
Nothing of his life was left, he knew it with a sinking cold fear as he took in his surroundings. What had happened, where was he? Just two of the questions he needed an answer to. Where was his family and friends, had they gone or come here with him? Or where they all dead? His despair turned to grief as he searched what was left of his old home, he wanted a keepsake, a photo, anything to remember them by, but nothing remained, where he had once lived, had like everything else gone, rotted or decayed, leaving behind a dark dank smell of neglect, and a heart full of empty despair.
Danger soon rears its head as he is followed by a pack of dogs, hungrily looking at him. Snarling and barking, he is their next meal unless he finds a way to defend himself. Loneliness set in, bored and dejected, he walks all over North Wales desperate to hear the sound of a human voice, when it came, he wished for the loneliness back. One nightmare he comes to terms with, another is just beginning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul G Mann
• Release date: Jun 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463725849

Paul G Mann

Writing never came easy to me, even at school but somewhere inside me I always thought I had a story to tell. Before word processors and spell checks the bringing up of a family and out working to support them took precedence over such things as writing and as such setting my story down on paper was the least of my priorities.Things changed in 2007 when I suffered a heart attack which effectively ended my working life. My first computer back in 1988 was an old Amstrad word processor that allowed me to take work home from the office without the need of a ream of paper and white correction fluid. All I needed was a small three inch disc that fitted quite nicely into my pocket. It made letter writing so much easier and renewed my interest in writing although at that time I didn’t pursue it.I have had a large and varied working life to give me inspiration. I was a seaman for three years in my teenage years; I worked as a bus conductor on leaving the sea to raise a family before training as a plasterer and working in the building industry. A telecommunications factory offered better pay and conditions so I moved into the production of telephone exchanges for six years until securing a job in BT for seventeen years until made redundant in 1992. Ultimately I worked as a private hire taxi driver until illness forced me to stop.I am twice married with 3 children of my own (all grown up and flown the coup now) and 3 step children (also flown away). My present wife Gillian is a rock to me and who without her support and encouragement these books may never have been finished for publication. So if you don't like them blame her not me.The heart attack changed my life. I had to find something to occupy my mind and soon decided the best thing I could do was write. I readily admit I am not and probably never will be the most gifted writer in the world but as an exercise in keeping the old grey matter in working order it cannot be surpassed.All my work is ready for reading in e-book format from Smashwords and Paperback from http://www.Feedaread.com (cheaper at smashwords}

Book preview

One Small Step

One

I don’t know what happened, or why; there was no indication or warning to the life-changing events my life was about to take. It was a normal Saturday afternoon, and I was ambling around the shops on the lookout for a new jacket, and a decent pair of trainers. Following which, I planned a pub lunch with my girlfriend Jenny, before heading home to get ready for my mate Joey’s stag night. Joey was an old school friend, my best mate forever, even after our house move over to the Birkenhead side of the river. The night out promised to be a good one; it had been a long time since I had seen most of my old school friends, and the night should be interesting if nothing else.  

Seeing a jacket I liked in Greenwood's, I bought it, leaving the shop feeling pretty good with myself as I strolled about, clutching a brown paper bag with the nice new, wind and waterproof jacket inside. I was in a shoppers daze after that; I still wanted a pair of trainers, but you know what it's like walking along a busy shopping area, surrounded by noise and people, not noticing anything or anyone, just looking in the shops, wondering if you have enough left in the bank or on the credit card, to buy the expensive things you see, but don’t want or need; that was when my world did cartwheels, and everything I knew disappeared.  

Without warning, I idly took a step on my aimless sojourn, and stepped into a jungle of crumbling buildings and overgrown vegetation.  An overpowering smell of rank decay assaulted my nostrils making me screw my face up at the stale mustiness. It took all of two seconds before my mind registered the change in surroundings. Confused, I looked around, not understanding what I was seeing. Vines clung to walls, in most cases it was the vines that held the buildings upright; trees grew out of the once paved or tarmac roads, and sides of buildings where seeds had found their way and flourished between cracks and crumbling masonry. Nature was fighting the works of man, and winning, the once proud buildings all but destroyed, the land forced back into a wilderness. 

Fright, panic, desperation, terror, confusion; words that do not adequately describe the mix of emotions coursing through my body and soul. Instinctively I stepped backwards, hoping that small step would take me home, back to a place I knew. Instead, my foot encountered a small pothole in the once pristine pavement, and I fell backwards, landing unceremoniously on my rump, hurting my thigh, the broken paving stones grazing my skin and drawing blood. In hindsight, I was lucky not to break or sprain an ankle in the fall, but uttering a curse I sprang back to my feet as quickly as I could, in total confusion to what was happening to me. 

Panic mixed with fear, and a terrible foreboding flooded through every fibre of my being. In one step, one small, lousy step, I had gone from my home, a home where the only danger was dodging cars as I crossed the road, to a place containing God alone knew what horrors or dangers. My Mother’s face flashed across my mind, my father, my sisters, my girlfriend. Where were they, where was I, would I ever see them again? Where they also here, were they, like me quaking in their boots in this waking nightmare? Where had everyone gone? What the hell had happened?!! Was I alone in this place of ruin and decay?

My imagination ran riot, I asked myself over and over, where was I? what had happened? How do I get home? Answers never came; I screamed in frustration and fear for what must have been ten minutes, ten minutes of frightened quaking panic, fuelled by a terror so intense, it threatened to send me over the edge of sanity. I forced myself to calm down, but my horror became complete when furtively looking around, my eyes rested on bleached white bones, a lot of bleached white bones, half buried and heaped against the remains of a building on the opposite side of what was once a road. Where they human or animal? I didn’t know, I might have known if the skeletons had been whole, but to my dismay, horror and disgust, something had chewed on them making them unrecognisable. Remembering my screaming fit, and the noise I must have made, I wondered who or what, might have heard me. Was something coming for me, hunting me, maybe stalking me in this alien panorama, wanting to add my bones, to the heaped mound I had trouble taking my eyes off?  

I looked for signs of danger, my eyes darting from building to building, from one pile of rubble to another, but everywhere was quiet, soundless, except for the occasional crash of falling masonry, and the wind that whistled around the corners of deserted, crumbling buildings. 

A light rain began to fall, galvanising me into action; not wanting to get soaked, I ran for the nearest doorway, seeking shelter inside a building I hoped would stay upright long enough for the rain to stop. The once glass door was no longer there, smashed to a million pieces, but inside, back out of the rain, although gloomy and smelling of decay, it was dry. Fear stopped me from going too far into what was once a shop. It was dark back there, and anything could lurk in the gloom, waiting to pounce on me.  

I calmed myself; I shivered and not just from the cold. Every nerve in my body was at a screaming point, with the fear and terror of the unknown going through my mind, the utter hopelessness I felt brought on an attack of despair and despondency that reduced me to a sobbing wreck. I kicked myself, called myself a fool and tried to put all thoughts of my family out of my mind trying to come to terms with what was happening. It was still raining outside, a heavy rain now; to leave my shelter invited a soaking at best, pneumonia at worse. I looked around the shop I was in, seeing old shelving units I could use. Not much good as a shelter to keep warm, but built around me, they might give me some protection if anything came for me while I was here. 

Building the makeshift, inadequate barrier, gave me something to do, the work and time combining to calm me. Fear was still paramount, but at least now I was thinking, and the rumbling in my stomach made me realise I had missed my pub lunch with Jenny. That had my bottom lip quivering again, but the realisation forced the reality of my situation on me. I needed food and water, and looking around this place, I was far from both necessities.   

The afternoon dragged on; the rain continued outside, sometimes heavy, others light, washing everything with a freshness that forced the smell of decay away. With nothing else to do, I took stock of myself and what belongings I had before my mind went into overdrive again imagining what horrors could fall on me. I had nothing except my new jacket, a wristwatch, eighty-nine pence in change, various credit, debit and store cards, a driving licence in the name of Charles Albert Peters, (me) along with twenty-five pounds comprising a twenty and a five pound note, and a couple of photographs of Jenny in my wallet; and that was it, apart from a mobile phone that had no signal, and as useful as half a house-brick; I also had a lighter and half a pack of cigarettes, which given the state of my nerves would last till morning if I was lucky; and of course, the clothes I wore. Training shoes, socks, jeans, T-shirt and a hoody sweatshirt, topped by a plain black polo baseball cap, oh and a pair of jockey shorts. Not a lot, and nothing I thought would be useful if I was to survive this nightmare.  

I sat thinking about what had happened, rising panic threatening to send me over the edge again. The panic gave way to a deep-rooted fear as the sunset and the light outside faded. Inside my shelter it became dark, then a deeper dark than I had ever known, turning into a pitch black, terrifying nothingness. I began an uncontrollable shaking, only stopping when I forcibly calmed myself. It was no good losing my mind I reasoned; I was in a mess and would need all my wits and thinking capabilities to survive it.  

Wherever I was, I would need food and water, and by the looks of things, whatever may be still lying about in the shops; food, tinned or otherwise, would be long gone or rotten and inedible. If I stayed here for any length of time, I would need weapons for hunting and shelter, I couldn’t live in shop doorways until rescue arrived, if it arrived; panic and fear welled up again as the thought crossed my mind. Despondency settled over me again as I realised, if rescue never came, I could be here for the rest of my life. 

My prospects, both immediate and long term didn’t look good, I had never hunted anything in my life, never mind killed something to eat, and without weapons I faced the real prospect of starving to death. I searched through my memories, trying to remember what I had seen in the nature and survival programs I so avidly watched on television, wondering if I could identify a potato or a carrot without having to first dig it up. It was then I concluded; I didn’t know as much as I thought I did.

The rain lasted the best part of the night, stopping in the early hours; I looked at my watch, but in the ink black darkness I saw nothing. I spent the night propped up against a cold, crumbling, ivy-covered wall, drifting in and out of sleep, more out than in, as my mind, a hive of thoughts and emotions, stopped the body from getting the rest it needed. With the sound of the rain gone, silence reigned, a silence like no other I had ever known, broken only by dripping water and falling masonry as walls crumbled, or the odd unknown sounds, some near, some far away. The following morning, started bright as the sun shone in a cloudless sky, I breathed easier, the morning light pushing the darkness back, both outside and in my head.

I twitched with fear, startled by every little noise that broke the quiet, no matter how faint or insignificant it sounded, wondering what made it; was it the thing, the monster that had chewed those bones? Rats maybe, or a wild dog or cat, or maybe something even wilder like a lion or tiger, escaped from a safari park or zoo. My imagination knew no limits as I reduced myself to a numbed wreck of a man, glad to see the brightening dawn of a new day, and light to chase away the monsters that lived in the dark. 

I was up bleary-eyed and tired, walking at the first hint of daylight; glad I had survived the nights often imagined terrors. One thing became clear as I began my walk, I had to get out of the town and get out fast. Everywhere I looked was complete desolation; buildings that still stood crumbled as you looked at them, the rusted hulks of old cars and buses lay in the roads rotting, many already piles of useless rust the only recognisable thing left, the engine blocks, made from stainless steel. They had lasted, still recognisable, but even they had succumbed to the decay and overgrown plants pervading everywhere and everything. There was no animal life that I could see, except for birds that wheeled and screeched overhead.

Thirst and hunger was already gnawing at my insides, and I had been here less than 24 hours. As I walked, the low warming morning sun formed a light mist from the quickly drying vegetation, water lay in pools on the ground, but I knew it was too risky to drink without boiling, not without knowing what had happened here. I couldn't take the chance of it being contaminated with bacteria, a virus, or even radiation, and with no medical help, I couldn’t afford to drink it in its natural state, it could be a death sentence. 

My thirst and hunger determined me to get out of the town and into the surrounding countryside. There was nothing here to help me, everything I touched crumbled, and I wondered how the buildings still stood. I hoped I would have a better chance of surviving in the country; it being closer to nature, running water from streams, and the wild food that may be available on trees and bushes. As I walked, I was fearful, eyes and ears open for signs of danger. Dogs, a lot of dogs barked in the distance, I could hear snarling and wondered if they were fighting over food, terrified I could become their next meal. 

I recognised landmarks;  realising I was still in what was once my home town, Birkenhead on the south side of the Mersey, opposite Liverpool. I walked down to the river to get my bearings; I knew the area well; it was my childhood playground were my friends and I would spend hours watching the ships and the ferries. Across the river still standing proud, was a Liver Bird, one of a pair that had once adorned the top of the Liver Building, it was still upright, looking out to the sea, keeping a watch on the sailors who ploughed the waves; only now, instead of standing proud on top of England's first skyscraper, she balanced precariously on a pile of rubble, overgrown with grass and shrubs, vine tendrils creeping up her sides. 

The landing stage at Woodside had gone along with the buildings that surrounded it, but knowing it was opposite Liverpool’s Pier Head, I turned my back to the river looking for the way home, or what was my home this time yesterday.  The busy shopping area of Grange Road in the town centre had a shop renowned for selling camping equipment. I was going to need something to help me, and the shop if it had survived might have something I could use. It wasn’t the best of plans, but it was the only one I had.  

The jungle was everywhere, what had once been buildings had by and large collapsed in on themselves leaving mounds of rubble that time had covered with dust and dirt. A few buildings still stood, walls still remained upright, I could make roads out. Tarmac long buried under dirt, had shrubs growing. Where I once had driven my car now had a covering of long grass that kept the plants and weeds at bay. It left swathes of grassland snaking through the old town and out towards the suburbs and countryside? 

The new day dispelled the nights terrors, I recognised many of the sounds that terrified me last night, falling masonry, dripping water, and the cry of all things, a cat that ran, scampering out of my way as I rounded a low brick wall. I felt better in myself; still nervous, worried and frightened at the mess I was in, but the panic and despondency of yesterday receded as I began to accept the situation I found myself in. I now had a purpose, and that was to survive, find other people and a way home. I was resolute, but first, I had to resolve my immediate problem, the lack of food and water. 

Reaching the shop, it filled me with amazement, not only to see it still standing; albeit covered in a blanket of thick ivy. It still had, now rusted and full of holes, rotten, steel shutters, still pulled down and locked against the thieves and hooligans. The owner or manager, who had locked up before the catastrophic event that had caused the downfall of civilisation, never thought it would stay locked for the next two or three hundred years. The main window had gone, smashed a long time ago, long enough for the ivy to have spread in to the shop, and part way up the inside walls, stopping only where the light refused to travel. Gingerly I made my way in through the window, careful of the shards of broken glass under the carpet of weeds and grass, crunching underfoot, the last thing I wanted was a foot sliced open by broken glass.  

I searched for over an hour, difficult in the gloom at the back of the shop, made even harder by the creaks of settling rotted timbers that threatened to crash down on top of me. Most of what I saw was way beyond being anywhere near useful, or had decayed beyond recognition. The state of some of the plastics surprised and concerned me. Bags and containers fell apart at your touch while others made from PVC seemed unaffected by the passage of time. Picking among the rubbish, I eventually came across what was once a wooden door, it still stood, how God alone knew, I touched it and jumped back as it disintegrated in a cloud of dust filled, rotten worm ridden wood. 

The interior hadn’t seen the light of day in centuries; everything had a thick covering of dust, but inside was dry, the contents not as decrepit and decayed as everything else I had seen. It was an Aladdin's cave, full of stuff, some moth-eaten, and not worth looking at, but other stuff, I felt I had fallen in to a gold mine as I searched with the aid of my lighter, and then worried it would run out of gas, I lit the end of a lump of wood with a rotted rag wrapped around it. I might be in a nightmare of biblical proportions but someone was looking after me; a heavy duty nylon rucksack was my first find, a one-man tent made from the same material, and a five or six inch bladed knife. Thankfully, whoever had been here before me ransacking the place, had overlooked this room, the knife was in pristine condition, wrapped in an oiled, grease proof paper that had kept the blade and resin handle, in perfect condition.  

On the floor near the back wall, numerous fishing rods lay where they had fallen from wall mounts, now strewn about in careless abandon; selecting a small one made from what I thought might be fibreglass, plus a reel and line made from a hard plastic and nylon, I felt pleased with myself, at least I will be able to fish. A steel cupboard sat against the wall by the doorway, this steel still had structure, and wondering how to open it, I kicked the cupboard over, satisfied and smiling as the door hinges popped letting it spring open and the rest disintegrate in to a pile of rust. I found four bows, very basic, not your Olympic standard, but bows with dozens of arrows; again I assumed made from carbon fibre, or fibreglass, all were in perfect condition. Taking one, a quiver and two dozen arrows, I tied them to myself with thin leather belts, cracked in places, but still usable except for the metal buckles. 

Much of the storage units in the shop had crumpled into piles of rotted wood and rust long ago; it made the search for something specific difficult in the extreme, but after a lot of huffing, puffing and kicking things out of my way, I came across what was once a small tin box; like everything else made from iron or steel, it had rusted beyond being of use; the contents however, contained a small metal hammer shaped tool, made to strike a piece of flint, and the flint itself. The tool had long perished, but the flint I tucked into the rucksack along with an aluminium canteen that could hold a quart of water.

Outside, the shop I felt better and a lot less afraid now I had the means to defend myself. Armed with the bow and knife, I could now not only hunt, but fight off an attacker if I needed to. With a rumbling stomach and dry mouth, I looked to the river and took my first step towards a new life, or an answer to finding my way home. 

Two

I toyed with sailing down the coast until I found a fit place to live, possibly finding a boat in the docks. I made my way back to Woodside, the one time ferry terminal with floating landing stage and shops for tourists, there was also at one time a submarine exhibit, a world war two German vessel sunk in Liverpool bay, re-floated and restored. Everything had gone, the submarine rusted to brown flakes of rotten steel. Nothing was left afloat, what boats I could see lay at the bottom of the Mersey, barnacle encrusted hulls poking out of the water at low tide.

Disappointed, I turned my attention to the shops, or what was left of them; the disappointment I felt evaporated when I found a hole in the rubble, hiding a shop that at one time sold T-shirts, mugs, key rings, and a host of other tourist memorabilia. Inside was pitch black, the morning sun yet to light that side of the road cast no rays of light to see by. Finding some rotting cloth I wrapped it around a dead tree branch and used it as a torch, thanking what Gods remained, I had my lighter.

Mugs and stuff like that, except for an enamelled mug with World in one City emblazoned across it that I kept for drinking out of, I left alone thinking they were only so much weight I would have to carry, but in an even darker back room I found a considerable amount of T-shirts in clear plastic covers, vacuum sealed for ease of transport, well it looked as if that was what the sign said. The top and bottom half dozen or so of each stack had perished, but the ones in the middle all looked good. I stuffed a dozen or more into the rucksack, all with a Beatles motif, screen printed on the front.