When I awake it’s dark outside, and I don’t know if I have woken too early and must now wait out the dawn, or if I have somehow slept through the day, my body taking control long enough to allow the remaining alcohol to leech out of my system. I spin around in my bed, twisting to find some sign that will tell me either way, so that I can make the decision to either pretend to sleep for a couple more hours, or haul myself into the shower and pretend to be human.
Frustrated, I yank back the sheets and stumble upright, my legs shaking and my head still reeling. My mouth is dry and my tongue swollen; lips glued together with drool. I hunt in the dark for water, but there’s nothing nearby I’d want to drink from. I make out the shape of the bedroom door and head for it, failing to avoid several heavy and painful objects that are spread across the floor. I flail for the light switch, and as my hand makes contact I realise there’s somebody else in the room.
Nina is in the bed, I can see the curve of her thigh and hips beneath the covers, her raucous laugh echoes around the small room as she squirms. She’s calling me back to bed, and my hangover is suddenly forgotten. I step over the lumpen objects that are sprawled across the floor and reach out to run my hand over the small of her back, but my fingers don’t find the soft warmth of her skin. Instead there’s another hand there – large, strong – and on instinct I pull back with a gasp.
Nina moans, a noise that stirs something deep in my heart, and her leg appears from the corner of the sheets. The white cotton slides back in slow motion, every inch of flesh pulling the breath tighter in my chest. A man’s foot, calf, thigh, and then two bodies writhing together. Her pleasure is obvious and vocal, rising in volume and tempo until I can no longer bear it. As I run from the room I glance down at the two dead bodies I’ve been stepping over, and Nina’s face stares back at me, one corner of her lips curled upwards in a smile.
Outside the house, the bus is waiting. I’m not dressed, not ready, but I know the driver doesn’t want excuses, so I step out naked into the street. It’s not like there’s anybody left to see me.
The driver is waiting, gaze fixed forwards, skin pallid and mottled with the first stages of decomposition. I don’t have my Oyster card, so I just wave my hand past the reader and walk aboard. My hand is covered in blood, and I have no idea whose it is. The driver is waiting, but I can’t find anywhere to sit down. Nina is sat in the back seat with an arm draped over her shoulder, but its owner is obscured behind the stairwell. A small child is lying across the seat in front of me, occupying the only spare space available. The driver is waiting, so I drag the girl upright and prop her body into the corner of the seat. I sit, and the bus starts moving.
I’ve fallen asleep again. I know this because it’s light outside now and the bus isn’t moving. We must be at the shops, so I walk out through the open doors, pausing only to look back at the empty seats where Nina was sitting. The driver is gone, everybody is gone, there’s just a note on the driver’s door that says “sorry, but you weren’t awake”.
Outside I know that there’s nobody moving. I can smell smoke in the air, and somewhere in the distance a car alarm is sounding. The shops are empty, just row after row of empty white shelves and stickers showing what was on sale. I want to find some cigarettes, but the signs all say that smoking kills. I figure that it’s probably too late to worry about that, and hunt desperately for any trace of packet.
In a pub I find a vending machine, and punch out the glass to get at a pack of Camels. As I pull my hand out blood pours down my arms and starts dripping off my elbow. I stare at it, before sinking to the floor and ripping the film wrapping from the cigarettes. The plastic curls and sticks to my bloody palm, but I don’t care anymore. Shaking, I extract a precious white tube and press it to my lips. As I close my eyes, it occurs to me that I don’t have a light.
London’s on fire. That’s pretty much all I can see from this far away. A plume of smoke about a mile wide is rising from the direction of Kensington, and on the breeze I can hear the screams of everyone I ever knew as they burn. I look down at the box of matches in my hand, turning it over and shaking it to check it’s empty. I toss the cardboard to the ground, smile, and walk away.