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The Year That Never Was
Another day, another death. That's all it seemed to be since Harold Saxon had become Prime Minister. The news wasn't even reliable anymore; they said only a certain number had been killed, but Alex knew it had been a whole lot more. He just wished they'd adopt some degree of honesty.
The house was a pig sty. Adrian just wouldn't shift from his chair to help clean up, and Gwen had becomes so disillusioned by the increasing poverty outside that she thought any point of cleaning up and trying to retain any sense of normality was redundant. Empty tins and cartons littered the kitchen. The food in the fridge had turned rotten and was starting to stink, but Gwen wouldn't let Alex try to throw it out in case "the guns got him". It was absolute chaos. People were stealing from each other, beating each other to death in the streets, drugs were being passed around between teenagers (and not just painkillers and speed; illegal stuff) and this Harold Saxon just didn't care. He had said in the past that what this country needed the most was a doctor ... where was that man now? Nothing was being made better, it was only getting worse.
But out of all the crap that was happening outside, Alex had something that people seemed to be lacking. Hope. Because he knew his father was nearby. He'd seen him with his own eyes on TV. The tall, lanky man in the brown suit and the sideburns. As soon as he'd appeared on the screen, squaring up to Saxon as if he had nothing to lose, he'd felt something stir inside him. Something that made his two hearts speed up and excitement rise in his chest ... something he'd not felt in a long time. Then Saxon had used that strange laser stick on him and it had all gone horribly wrong ... he wanted to scream seeing his father scream, contort and flail around. When he finally stopped, he looked nothing like the handsome young man he'd been. His skin looked like paper ... his hair was white and stuck up like electrical wires ... he looked as if the smallest gust of wind would blow him to pieces. That was when fear set in; if Harold Saxon could take down his father, a hero, then there was no hope for anyone.
But Alex still had hope. Because there was someone coming; he'd heard whisperings around the city. She'd been all over the country so far, with an intention of branching out into Europe. A woman walking the Earth, telling stories of the Doctor ... the Doctor that this country needed, and not the type Saxon was talking about either. The Doctor that was also his father. He had heard that Martha Jones would be the saviour of them all, and would take down Saxon before he could do any more damage, and it was that person that Alex was holding out hope for.
It was his turn to head to the food bank tonight, a walk that Alex dreaded. Every day came more news of people being assaulted by those who couldn't be bothered to line up and wait to be given their daily ration of food. A child had been beaten to death over a tin of beans ... how pathetic was that? But it was either go get it or starve for a night, and he didn't fancy being on the receiving end of Adrian's anger again, so there was nothing for it but to heave on his shoes and his moth eaten jacket he'd gotten from a second hand rag bag in the street and make his way down the street to the community centre where the food bank was held.
Alex made sure to put the hood of his jacket up as he walked ... usually if you hid your face, you'd just blend into the chaos and you'd be less of an easy target. He pretended like he was just out for a walk, but he knew that he was seriously risking his life doing this, all for a few cans of food.
He had gone hardly more than halfway down the street when he heard a strong but muffled explosion come from behind him. He turned to see plumes of dense grey smoke coming from the street corner. Clearly the gangs of teenagers who frequented the streets at night had decided to make some noise. If he just kept going, they probably wouldn't bother him. Alex quickened his pace, fear rising in his stomach. He could hear the sound of running feet behind him, which spurred him into a lumbering run, as his boots were slightly too big for him.
It wasn't long before he tripped over a loose paving stone and went falling to the ground. The running feet finally caught up with him and he felt a hand grab the hood of his jacket and pull him upright.
"Well, looky here," a husky voice said. Alex turned his head to see a rough looking boy, face covered in pimples with teeth that looked like they'd never known toothpaste or a toothbrush in years leering at him. "Just come back from the food bank, have you?"
His cronies were surrounding them. "What's he got, bruv?" they shouted. "Bash his head in!" another yelled. Alex was on the verge of panicking. He'd heard that people were being killed even if they weren't carrying food.
The guy holding Alex pushed him hard towards his face, his rancid breath stinging his eyes. "Give up the goods and we won't skin you alive," he growled.
"I don't have anything, I swear!" Alex said. "I haven't even been there yet!"
"Likely story, mate," he said, pushing Alex's face closer to his. "You give it up or I will bite off each of your tiny little fingers one by one." This seemed to make the others excited cause they started cheering and urging the man to "Do it, bruv!"
Looking round at his gang, he looked back at Alex. "Hold him," he said. Members of the gang started to gather around them both, holding Alex hard in the upright position. The man reached down, grabbed Alex hand in a vice-like grip. Alex didn't see the point in screaming, no one would dare cross these guys. He began to shake with fear. He was going to die and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
"If you're not going to give us the goods, mate, we'll just have to make you, won't we?" he said with a sadistic grin. "Now which one should we take off first? ... Oh, I know," he said, lifting Alex's middle finger to his mouth. "Your fingers will really be sticky when I'm through with you," he said, grinning again before biting down hard on Alex's finger. Alex screamed as pain coursed through his hand as the man's teeth tore through his skin and began to gnaw away at the tendons and nerves. Blood gushed down his hand and formed a puddle on the floor. Those holding him did nothing but laugh, completely blind as to the horror of the situation.
Suddenly, a deafening gunshot cut through the air and the group dropped Alex, who collapsed to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Alex shut his eyes tight and kept his head down, the gravel of the road cutting into his forehead as he tried desperately to hide himself from whatever had shot at them. The gunshot went off again and he heard the gang run off down the road. Soon, he could hear more footsteps approaching, these ones more slow and calm. A hand rested on his back and he looked up.
"Are you alright?" a female voice said. "Oh my god, there's blood ... can you get your head up for me?" Alex found himself looking into the face of a woman. She was clad in black, almost like a SWAT soldier and her black hair was tied back in a bun.
"Now, what trouble have you gotten yourself into, young man?" the woman said, helping Alex to his feet. "Let me look at that hand." Alex offered it. It was still bleeding profusely but thankfully the man hadn't succeeded in biting his finger off. "We're gonna need to get you to a medical facility, I can't let you go like like. Come with me, I spotted some first aiders at the food bank."
With one arm around Alex's shoulders, they set off down the road and round the corner. The bright lights of the community centre building shimmered in the distance.
"Who are you?" Alex asked as they approached the community centre.
"Martha Jones," she said plainly. "I'm pretty sure you've heard of me."
Alex looked up at her, completely dumbfounded. "You're her? Martha Jones? They say you're going to save us all."
Martha nodded. "That's the story. No pressure or anything. I can't guarantee that I'll be able to save the world, but I'll try my best to make sure Harold Saxon does not get away with what he's doing."
"Do you know my father?" Alex asked earnestly. "He's a doctor..."
Martha raised an eyebrow. "I know a lot of doctors, you're gonna have to be more specific than that..."
All of a sudden, a huge black sedan appeared over the crest of the road just beside the community centre. It was flanked by huge brown SWAT vans. That could mean only one thing. He was here, and he was going to cause even more chaos.
Martha's eyes widened with shock as the sedan appeared. Quickly, she crouched down and turned Alex to face him. "I'm so sorry, but this is important. As soon as I can make it, there'll be a pivotal moment that will depend if this world lives or dies. At exactly one point, I want you to think of a man called the Doctor. You don't know him, but he is so important and he is the one person that can make sure all this can end. Just think of one word - Doctor."
Alex opened his mouth to speak, but Martha had pushed him forward towards the community centre. "RUN! GET INSIDE AND DON'T COME OUT WHATEVER YOU HEAR!" Alex nodded and ran as fast as his legs would carry him into the building, slamming the door. Entering the crowded food bank area, he shouted "SAXON!" to all the people waiting. People screamed and cowered in panic, holding their children to them desperately. Someone clambered frantically over the tables to switch the lights off, shrouding the entire room in darkness. Nothing could be seen except the glow of the sedan's headlights in the windows.
"Marthaaaaa," a voice called in a childish sing-song voice. "Marthaaaa, come out and plaaaay! We only want to talk, Martha."
Everybody in the room seemed to freeze and tense up with fear as that unmistakeable voice spoke out. It made Alex's blood stop in his veins and turn to ice. It made his hair stand up on end and a never-ending pit of dread opened up in his stomach, swallowing every bit of positivity he had ever felt in all his 11 years of life on this Earth. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to fight. All of his instincts were kicking in at once.
Clearly Martha had gotten away since he couldn't hear her voice. An ominous laugh could be heard beyond the walls of the building, then footsteps approaching the front door. A faint tap sounded on the wood. He was right outside. People tried to be quiet, but a few let out yelps of fear and that laugh came again. A laugh that could make all the demons of hell stop in their tracks.
"Kill the lot of them," it said. "Make it as slow and as painful as possible. I do love it when they scream."
Then all hell broke loose. People screamed, leaped up and careened towards the door. But it had been locked. No one could get out. No one could escape. They were all going to die, right here, right now. Alex just cowered under a table, his hands over his ears, trying to drown out the cacophany of voices and cries of mothers that were about to go to the grave.
"Dad ... Dad ..." he whispered out loud. "Dad, where are you?"
Then all of a sudden, a huge explosion rocked the building. The ceiling buckled and then collapsed, a shower of dust and rubble falling around them. He could hear bones crack and necks break. Organs pulverized, fluids filling lungs and suffocating their victims. Backs bent and twisted and snapped. It all hurt so much.
Alex screamed as loud as he could as he saw life being wiped out in front of him and the community centre, the one last beacon of hope in a hopeless world being reduced to ashes. ================================================== When he woke up, he wished he hadn't.
The bleeding in his finger had stopped and almost completely healed. That special energy he had inside him had worked his magic. If only the same could be said for everyone else.
The table had saved his life, but only just. As soon as he raised his head, he was looking into the dead face of a woman. Must have been at least 80 years old. Dried blood covered her head in a sickening crimson crust. Her head had been split wide open (probably from falling rock), exposing her brain and her skull. Alex leaped up, banging his head on the underside of the table, scrabbling to get away from the body as far as possible. But it didn't make any difference. The same sight could be seen everywhere. Limbs severed. Skulls caved in. Chests impaled. Children crushed under the weight of bricks and mortar ... their little hands reaching up, trying to grab life.
Alex turned round and threw up on the ground, unable to get these gruesome things out of his head. He stumbled over stones and bodies, trying to get away from the carnage that surrounded him. Finally, he found himself outside of the grounds of the community centre. The visions of all that death and destruction came back to him and he threw up again, his stomach aching from the heaving.
He looked up at the sky as the sun began to push itself over the cloud, and spotted the vast shape of the Valiant, its metal banisters and turrets jutting up towards the sky. He couldn't help but think about his father and what he was doing, how he was feeling. Had he even heard him cry out as the community centre was destroyed?
Heaving a large sigh, Alex turned around and began to walk back towards the house.
Another day, another death. Or should I say deaths?
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