Hey there,
Thank you so much for supporting me as I venture out on this new project. ‘A Year’ is something I’ve been wanting to do for a little while and I finally managed to carve out time to write it. I’ll dive more into how I’m crafting each piece next week but for now here is the first short and the beginning of my next novel.
February…
It takes Sally a few hours to notice it.
She gets up, makes breakfast, gets ready for work and leaves her apartment in a half-awake state.
Her walk to work this morning is the same as every other, she walks through the park which is always quiet at this time of the morning, only the occasional rustle in the bush as someone wakes from a boozy night before. Her walk then takes her down the side alleys, past the bakery, which she doesn’t notice is not open as usual and finally, she hurries across a busy road and up to the control room door, she unlocks it, blissfully unaware that the road is dead quiet.
She walks up to the office; first in as always, looks at her route for the day and makes a coffee. During this time she fixes her auburn hair into a bun and puts the heating on. The city is especially cold in February. The control centre chugged in the colder months, the signals for the trains are slower, ice on the tracks and the drivers are generally more abrasive, except Sally, who loves the winter. It reminds her of busy cafes with steam rising and misting up the windows, the smell of comforting food in busy restaurants with everyone huddled close together. But, on this morning those thoughts have not yet entered her mind, it’s only an hour later when Steve doesn’t walk through the door that she thinks something is wrong. She calls his mobile around eight-thirty.
No answer. She begins to leave a voice mail and that’s when she sees it; the small well of chaos in the street, a distraught commotion.
Looking down from the control room she can see the panic in these people's eyes, a lady crying and screaming.
Sally walks out of the office, locks the door behind her and enters into the commotion of the handful of people, the crying lady is screaming for help.
‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’ Sally asks an elderly gentleman who is looking on and is void of all expression.
‘He didn’t wake up. My husband he…didn’t wake up.’ The man says softly.
‘Have you called an ambulance?’ Sally asks.
‘Phones are down, her family didn’t wake up either.’ He says pointing to the lady.
Sally moves towards her.
‘What can I do?’ Sally asks.
‘The…we…why me? Why didn’t it take me?!’ She weeps uncontrollably and lays down on the pavement.
This is when Sally notices just how quiet everything is. This lady’s trauma echoes through the street, there are no sirens, no fires, no helicopters, no buildings crumbling, no mass of people coming to help, no one at the windows looking on, just silence. The quiet that in time will become peaceful.
For the first few days, she stays in her apartment, every so often the odd banging or cluttering can be heard from the hallway, she takes a peek and sees no one. She uses up the food that she has and then decides to venture out to the shops, Sally has seen enough films about disasters that shops become the first place to become ransacked so she expects to find very little.
Instead, she finds a store full of food, drink, and money. No sign of anyone, no looting had commenced, no windows smashed. Sally takes some fruit and vegetables and stocks up on medicine, canned food and cupboard supplies; the kinds of things that last she isn’t sure what has happened if it’s still happening but something in her tells her to plan for longevity. She moves to the cashier aisle to pay; for the briefest of moments that old voice in her head says: No queue today, lucky! But that thought echoes in the quietness, she becomes aware of how eerie it is. She pushes her trolley of food home, not seeing anyone on her walk back.
Sally isn’t sure if it’s a state of shock or autopilot but she moves about her days as if she’s on holiday; nowhere to be, no one contacting her, just her and her apartment, and the TV shows no signs of life, she resorts to home media, watching the old stuff, laughing, crying, the state of the world not entering her bubble. But then, as ever the world creeps into a bubble, bursting it and by the end of the first week, she sees new people outside her window. A variety of sorts trying to start a variety of movements, the first person uses a megaphone to ask all living residents to join her in setting up a small government; no one appears, and no one joins her. After a few hours, she drops the megaphone and walks away. The next day, the next person suggests what has happened is a religious reckoning, that we’d been warned one day the end would come and those who died in their sleep were the lucky ones, that hell was made for and by people and this is it. He suggests everyone living to join him on a pilgrimage to the end. No one appears, no one joins him, the megaphone clatters to the ground and he walks away. After that, no one picked up the megaphone again.
And so after a while, the ones left begin to do their own thing, to live their own lives how they want to.
In this version of the city, it becomes easy to avoid one another.
It’s another few days before Sally cracks, like the holiday coming to the end, the bubble bursting entirely and the quiet of her apartment gets to her; the solitude. She packs up clothes, bedding, and food and walks to work.
It’s a snowy evening when she leaves, the ground is white and the powder floats through the air with the wind, no footsteps disturbing the settling of the snow, no vehicles pushing the snow to the curbs, and no one playing in the snow, it’s peaceful.
She spends the next few weeks in the control room, the door open during work hours, she sleeps, eats the cans of food she has and all the while she works to understand the systems. She has an idea and once she figures out how to get the trains running remotely, she plots out a schedule for herself to stick to. She can connect with people, she can do something to help.
To see who else is out there.
She has to get the word out, she doesn’t know how many people are left or if running the trains will be a good idea but all she can think is that connecting people is the only way through this mess.
That was eight years ago.
Sally’s route is as follows and included here are the amenities at each stop that Sally has added to over the years; at first, this involved a stop in each part of the city, it was slow going figuring out what was left, who was left and the extent of those who had died that night. The northern train runs on a Monday (on this line is a hairdresser; the only left in the city who takes payment in the form of conversation, a herbal pharmacist, with medicine expired a pharmacist did her best to set up shop and create what she can from what is left, often the remedies smell but they do the trick.) The western train runs on a Tuesday (the busiest of lines, there’s a market, a doctor, a sandwich maker, a shoe smith, a plant shop and a couple of cafes run by the same person who likes to change their environment day to day.) The southern train runs on a Wednesday (parks and allotments, people made quick use of the empty space to grow vegetables or herbs.) The Eastern train runs on a Thursday (bars, distilleries, and cafes are all operated by a group of friends.) Sally takes Fridays off and for weekends; a board is stationed outside the stops and on a Thursday evening she collects them, tallies up which train lines have been voted for and signals the lines with a colour-coded flag pulled high above the control room for all the city to see. Red is northern, black is western, orange is southern and blue is eastern.
On this Tuesday Sally is following a similar routine to that of eight years ago, she has her breakfast at home (she moved back in once the train lines were set up and she had a feel for the people out there), she gets ready for work and she leaves her house in a half awake state.
Her walk to work hasn’t changed much, there’s no rustle in the bush in the park, and the bakery is officially closed its windows dusty; although a person did once try to rekindle it until they almost caused a fire and with no fire department he quickly packed up and moved out of the city. The only part of her journey that has changed considerably is as she crosses the once busy road towards the control room door she encounters the same people she has done for the last three years at this time in the morning. James; took a month to leave his apartment due to fear it was a toxin in the air that killed everyone, he wrapped his fiancé up in their bedsheets and placed her body in the bathroom, it was the smell that caused him to leave. Sally always smiles at him and asks if there’s anything she can do, he’s become a frequent passenger on the northern train and visits his sister, their parents also didn’t wake up and so the two of them stick together where they can he told Sally recently that he’s setting up a library but keeping track of all the books on his own has become a challenge, Sally can see the cogs working in his head to find his way back to some normality after the horrors he’s faced.
There’s Alice the lady whose family didn’t wake up, it took her years to find her feet, but here she is preparing her coffee stand, she, like Sally found solace in working to provide something to the people that were left. She found art in coffee although her coffee beans are gradually getting worse due to the circumstances.
Lastly, there is Cassandra; a musician who travels on every train with Sally performing in different places across the city. There’s a moment every day for Sally where she looks up and sees Cassandra staring at the floor, her smile just waiting to burst open, Sally can even count it down in her head as she crosses the road.
And…five…four…three…two…
‘Morning Cassandra,’ Sally says as she fumbles with the keys to the office. ‘Bitter morning!’
Cassandra’s smile stretches across her face and into her eyes.
‘It is rather,’ Cassandra replies, her brunette shoulder-length self-cut hair blowing in the cold morning wind. ‘I was planning on it being an outdoor gig tonight, there’s that really nice square just around the corner from the eighth stop.’
When Sally reopened the trains she renamed the stops due to being unable to travel on some of the lines. Where once there would be several trains going between an area, Sally had to accommodate for a single train and something she didn’t account for was the bodies; the homeless who gathered underground seeking warmth that night who like countless others didn’t wake up that day, the ones who did survive now reside in apartments only the one percenters used to be able to afford.
By the end of the second week of the disaster a clean-up crew announced their arrival, the sounds of their vehicles could be heard all over the city, driving down the roads asking for people to tell them where they had found bodies, Sally called them to tell them about the homeless on the line and they said they’d sort it but eight years later and those sections of the track are cornered off with tape and large sheet dividers. She overheard someone on the train one day suggesting that the cleanup crew believed it was a virus that caused it, but Sally has always felt with no true evidence or a way to find out the truth, these theories of what caused it didn’t matter all that much, what mattered was what happened next. Sally heard stories of people going out to search for the answer, but she’s never encountered one of them and then people who told her these stories have never heard from them again, once they left the city that was it, they’re either dead, found a life somewhere else or maybe they did find the answer but had no way to communicate it to those who are left.
And so, Sally renamed the stops, each route has ten stops except the western line which has twelve, in the early day's Sally drew out the map, she spent a gruelling night sketching it out forty-five times until it was right, one for each station and over time she’s sprayed over the stop names with a number.
‘Oh definitely don’t do that,’ Sally says as she opens the door and heads up the stairs to the office, flicking the light switch on the wall. ‘There’s that coffee shop opposite it though, I think people are growing herbs or vegetables, I met them last week at the market, but I’m sure they won’t mind if you set up there they seemed friendly.’ the lights flicker on, a sign the generator is stuttering in the cold weather.
Sally writes a note to herself on the whiteboard.
CHECK GENERATOR.
‘Could you put the coffee on please?’ Sally asks.
Cassandra shuffles off to the kitchen whilst Sally prepares the control centre the two of them have become quite the duet, Sally enters the route for the day onto the system, signs in (a force of habit) and then hurries back downstairs to lock the door. All the while Cassandra can be heard pottering around in the kitchen, the kettle takes longer to boil these days; solar generators and all.
With Sally back in the control centre a whirring sound occupies the room which is a sign that everything is in working order, Sally walks out onto the platform, the cold air hitting her cheeks. She opens up the cab on the western train and switches on the lights, a sign on the controls says:
CHECK FOURTH CARRIAGE SOLAR.
A reminder she wrote to herself last week.
‘Shit.’ Sally says to herself.
She walks down the train and then climbs up onto the roof of the fourth carriage and sees the issue she has forgotten, the solar panel had detached on the route.
Sally heads back to the control centre and is greeted by Cassandra handing her a coffee.
‘Hope that’s okay!’ She says.
‘It’s black and expired but I’m sure it’ll warm me up.’ Sally says sipping the coffee.
‘Could you give us a hand, one of the solar panels has come loose again and it’s a pain of a job on my own. I just need you to apply weight whilst I screw it back into the roof.’
‘Yes of course.’ Cassandra says.
Sally grabs the nail gun and a zip tie.
‘When you built all of this did you expect it to last as long as it has?’ Cassandra asks.
‘Not really, I didn’t have a plan. The city seemed big to me back then and I wanted a way to connect people, I think as well I wanted a routine.’
Together they head down to the fourth carriage and climb on top.
‘Okay so, if you can just hold this,’ Sally says pointing to a portion of the solar panel.
Cassandra leans over, her hand briefly touching Sally’s, a smile breaks out on both of their faces but neither of them notices.
Cassandra applies all of her weight to the solar panel whilst Sally angles in a zip tie to attach it to the ruts on a wooden board that she placed on top of the carriages.
‘One day I’ll get a better system in place, something where passengers don’t have to help me out.’ Sally says.
‘Oh don’t mention it, we make a good team so I’m happy to help.’ Cassandra replies.
Once it’s tied in Sally then uses the nail gun to attach the panels to the wooden board.
‘Perfect.’ Sally checks her watch.
8.27
‘Three minutes and then we get moving.’ Sally says.
She hurries back to the control centre, drops off the nail gun, places the system into remote function, grabs her coffee cup and locks the door to the office.
She walks into the carriage and places the coffee cup down.
‘Feel free to jump on Cassandra.’ She says as she opens the doors to all of the carriages and a chiming sound echoes around the depot.
‘Right, first stop. First ticket check.’ Sally smiles as she says this on the announcer.
Cassandra walks over to the driver's seat, now open plan to the rest of the carriage, Sally didn’t like the idea of being behind a wall considering how few people are around.
‘Now, how’re you doing?’ Sally asks, this has become her way to do a ticket check, a conversation, an insight into those who are left.
‘I’m really good you know? I just helped someone fit a solar panel onto the roof of a train carriage, I mean that’s pretty unique right?’ Cassandra says with a cheeky smile.
The train rolls out of the depot, Sally takes one look back as she always does before her day begins.
‘So, Sally, I overheard an interesting conversation yesterday, there was a couple in that bar, you know the one with the ferns growing out of the windows? Anyway they were discussing what they think it was, like how do this many people just not wake up one day? The virus theory has obviously been passed around for years but these guys suggested that it was actually to do with how soundly one slept that night. If you were awake at three am whether to get up to go to the loo, get a drink or you’re out partying then they suggested that was the window of time in which everyone passed away. They said they landed on this theory because they were both walking home from a bar that night at three am and everyone they’ve encountered has somehow been awake at the same time. It’s wild right?’ Cassandra says in an excited voice.
‘I don’t buy it, I mean, look, it was eight years ago I can’t remember if I got up at three am and I’m not saying it isn’t the answer but who can remember exactly what time they got up in the middle of the night that night? We all entered some level of shock the week it happened, for some of us that shock lasted longer and the mind has a way to mess with memories. I appreciate that some people need to have a reason, to know what happened and whether it’ll happen again, how do we stop it? But for me, it’s the question of what do we do next?’ Sally says casually. It’s not the first time she’s expressed this feeling.
The train pulls into the first stop.
The doors open and the sound chimes.
‘Welcome aboard this Tuesday western service to stop number twelve, we’re currently on time so please take a seat and enjoy the ride. If you’re joining us here please come up to the drivers seat and let me know how you’re doing.’ Sally announces.
Two people board the train and are in conversation with each other.
‘Hi Sally, just Paul and Viv here, we’re okay today, bitterly cold. How’re you?’
‘I’m doing good thank you, glad to be on time this morning!’ Sally replies.
Paul and Viv take a seat and continue their conversation.
‘I suppose so, you’ve got to give them points for originality though right?’ Cassandra says continuing their conversation. ‘I didn’t get home that night until the early morning so I was awake at three am it just got me thinking you know?’
‘I find it’s best not to think about it Cassandra, it’s a never ending loop of hypotheticals and anxiety. My view? Shit happens. We all went to sleep at some point that night and however many of us didn’t wake up. Communications went down, services stopped, life as we know it stopped, we adapted and changed but we’re here and we are quite literally moving forward.’
The train slows as it approaches the second stop.
‘Second stop, hop off or stay on.’ Sally announces. Not expecting anyone to get on or off here, very few use the second stop and Sally hasn’t found out why.
The train pulls into the second stop with ease.
The doors open and the sound chimes. No one is waiting at the station and no one alights.
‘You’re right, it doesn’t matter what happened that night, it happened and we’re the ones left picking up the pieces.’ Cassandra says as she sits down behind the driver's seat.
The train travels on through the next four stops with no one saying a word and no one getting on or off, this world might seem lonely and desolate but to Sally, it can be an opportunity to hear the things we missed when the world was busier.
The train slows as it approaches the seventh stop.
The doors open and the sound chimes.
‘Seventh stop, hop off or stay on.’
Three people are waiting to get on board, Paul and Viv alight.
‘See ya later on Sally.’ Paul says.
Sally waves them goodbye.
‘Welcome aboard this Tuesday Western service to stop number twelve, we’re currently ahead of time so please take a seat and enjoy the ride. As always please say hello, let me know how you’re doing, it’s my way of checking your ticket.’ Sally announces.
The three people don’t approach though, they stick to their conversation. Sally recognises them, three young adults, they were just teenagers when everything happened. They missed out on finding who they are in a big world, they’re now left to find themselves in an empty world. Sally has tried in the past to get them to socialise but it’s difficult for them, they have each other at least Sally thinks.
The train pulls out of the seventh stop.
‘Next stop Cassandra, what time are you performing?’ Sally asks.
‘Well, it was meant to be eight tonight but that was the outdoor plan, I’ll see if I can get in at this coffee shop, will you come tonight?’ Cassandra asks hopefully.
‘I will try to be there, let me see how the day goes, if the carriages are empty on the way back then I’ll swing by.’
Sally often runs a line to its full and then uses the train at the end of the day to get around herself, if she needs food she can go across the city to see what people are doing. In the first year, people tried all sorts to bring some normality back, for a while there it was nice, communal but then people got scared, people left the city searching for loved ones, or meaning in this new world.
The places that were once lively were now abandoned again.
But, there are still a few spots that Sally loves, there’s a food market every Sunday that runs from four in the afternoon to four in the morning, it’s full of homegrown vegetables, herbs, beer made in bathtubs, and there was gin one time, whisky (although it was essentially just ethanol with very little to tell you it was whisky.) There’s always a party as the night rolls around as well, Sally went there first to spread the word about the trains and now she goes to see new friends and for a moment she can be reminded of everyone being together in the winter; huddled close as they share stories.
Everyone has a story for the day when people didn’t wake up, but the really interesting stories are about the ones who decided to make something with what was left over, that’s what this market represents it’s a chance for the people to show that when they’re left to work and do what they want to do, in a world where there is no currency, no banks, no transactional society it reminds Sally that people can do remarkable things when they’re invested. Even something so simple as visiting a place they never would have gone to due to work, commitments, money what have you, Sally has met those people who share their stories so passionately that it makes her want to visit those places. They inspire people.
Sally’s day continues like the others, she reaches the twelfth stop with no issues and then runs the train back down through all of the stops, Paul and Viv get back on board at the seventh stop and return to the first stop.
Sally arrives back at the depot and the control centre just as daylight is disappearing. She watches the sunset from the control room, smiles to herself that she has completed another day and then jumps back into the train and heads off to the eighth stop to watch Cassandra perform.
The train slows into the station, she switches off all the electrics, locks the carriages, locks up the station itself and heads off to the coffee shop; Sally was hoping that they have been able to accommodate Cassandra there. As Sally walks towards the coffee shop which glows fluorescent purple she feels the first drops of snow this February.
She walks into the coffee shop which is now an overgrown plant, vegetable and herb shop, she sees one of the people she spoke to at the market last week.
‘Hey, I’m Sally, we met last week, I run the trains.’ Sally says to a man in a Hawaiian shirt, shaved hair and brown turtle shell glasses which are held together with tape.
‘Oh hey, yes of course, I remember, I’m Rich, welcome to the Plantheon as we call it, I run it with my wife, I can’t remember if you met her? Emma is her name, she’s upstairs preparing as we’ve got a musician here tonight.’ Rich says excitedly.
‘I’m friends with Cassandra actually, this place is amazing though, how did you start it?’ Sally asks looking at a rather large purple and yellow plant that is crawling up to a beam on the roof.
‘So, Emma was a gardener before everything went down and I was a care home worker, we met at one of those support groups, you know the ones around the seventh stop?’ Rich says.
‘Yes’ Sally knew of them, signs had been posted all around the city targeting those who had a particularly hard time that morning, whether waking up next to someone who didn’t or waking up in a house full of dead people, they were aimed at the ones who were hit the hardest. Support groups had popped up over time, some to help find family in other parts of the country or to help fund a way out of the city to see what was out there, what was left. Sally wonders if this is why she hadn’t met Rich and Emma before, often the types who go to those support groups are the ones who struggle to talk to her, they’re quiet and figuring their way through what’s happened; she doesn’t blame them of course, she just wishes she could help.
‘Anyway, we chatted and got talking about how plants are great for the eco system but how they can also really brighten a day, so we started collecting them from all over the city, going into empty apartments and getting what we could, over the last five years we’ve grown this place up literally. The vegetables and herbs are a recent addition due to the market, it feels nice to be able to give something back to people as I’m sure you’re aware.’
‘So how does it work?’ Sally asks eyeing up a particularly bright green bushy plant.
‘Take whatever you like, only thing we ask is you take just one plant, we want to make sure we have enough for everyone who passes through, the vegetables and herbs you can pick up at the market.’ Rich says as he pushes his glasses up his face.
Sally points to the plant that has grabbed her eye.
‘Can I take that one please?’
‘Of course, I’ll pop it behind the counter and give it to you before you leave so you’re not having to lug it through the performance, if you head on upstairs there’s a bar, we’re hoping to start shortly.’ Rich says as he picks up the bush, holds it in one arm and scrawls Sally onto a piece of paper attaching it to the base of the plant and carefully places it behind the counter with a row of plants all with names on.
Sally waves goodbye to Rich and heads up the stairs to a loft of sorts which is where the purple light is coming from, it’s a small space, with wooden beams, and plants growing all around, the walls look blue in this light but it’s hard to tell. Cassandra’s guitar is set up next to a chair on a slightly raised platform made of wooden pallets. There are maybe twenty people in the room which for these times is a large crowd, Sally doesn’t recognise anyone which is a good sign. She wonders if they’re people passing through the city or if they live here. It’s hard to know the extent of the deaths from that day, TV stations never came back on, the government never reached out, and the army never arrived, it was clear early on that it was a global catastrophe. But for some, that meant a restart, a new lease on life, a new way to experience the world with those that were living. But, Sally does find herself curious about just how many people are left.
She smiles when she’s in a room with people she’s never seen before because it reminds her that other people are doing what she did; moving forward.
‘Sally! Over here.’ A voice yells from the back of the tiny room.
Sally walks over to Cassandra who is sitting at a makeshift bar sipping a drink.
‘What’re you drinking?’ Sally asks with a smile.
‘Oh, just water, the booze will be later.’ Cassandra says with a little wink.
‘This place is fun,’ Sally says looking around. ‘What’s the deal with drinks?’ She asks.
‘Emma is around here somewhere, she’s taking care of it. Her and Rich are soooo nice, thanks for the recommendation’ Cassandra says as she touches Sally’s hand for the second time today. ‘I’m so nervous, this is quite a big crowd tonight.’
‘You’ll be great! Have you changed your setlist at all? I don’t think I’ve seen you perform for a few months.’
‘There’s a couple of new numbers, you’ll see.’ Cassandra says as she smiles at Sally who unbeknownst to her Cassandra is planning to dedicate one of the songs to Sally.
‘Right, I should get up there.’ Cassandra says as she picks up her glass of water.
She kisses Sally on the cheek causing Sally to go bright red.
‘Oh, good luck.’ Sally says with a smile. It’s been a long, long time since Sally has been kissed on the cheek.
Emma walks over to the bar, she’s got a grey apron on, grey hair, a check shirt and skinny jeans complete with what looks to be winter boots that are scuffed in every imaginable place.
‘What can I get you? Are you Sally, the train driver?’
Sally is fixated for a moment on looking at Cassandra, the way her hair moves, the way her body adjusts as she picks up her guitar and misses what Emma said.
‘Sally?’ Emma says.
‘Oh gosh, sorry, yes?’ Sally says managing to look away from Cassandra.
Emma smiles, and her eyes seem to get larger as she does so.
‘She’s cute. You should stick around after and I’ll introduce you. What can I get you from the bar?’ Emma says.
‘I know her actually…Whisky please.’ Sally replies.
Cassandra sits down on the chair, places the guitar across her and strums the first few notes of a song, she stops and looks at the audience. She looks at Sally, smiles sheepishly and begins to strum again.
‘This song is for Sally. She brought us together.’ She smiles away from the mic and then puts her game face on as the rest of the notes spring to life and the acoustic guitar fills the room, for a moment everything hangs in the air. These twenty some people all go quiet, some hold hands, some smile at each other.
Sally who has never had a song dedicated to her blushes, she sips her whisky and for this night; for Sally and Cassandra anyway, the world they live in is not one of animosity, fear, or anxiousness. Rather, one filled with friends, with laughter, with smiles, a world with each other made up of those who are living in the hope of finding something through the darkness; of finding love in a city.