There was a loud explosion and a flash of brilliant white. Tom shielded his face with his forearm and felt a searing pain at the back of his eyes. Bright light was followed by complete darkness. Tom moved his forearm away from his face, but the black void remained. He pulled his eyes open, using his fingers to spread the skin away from his eyeballs, but could still see nothing; the flash of bright light had somehow plunged his world into darkness. Tom was blind.
He crouched in the middle of Market Street and put his head in his hands. His eyes still burned and he had developed a stinging headache to accompany the pain. He heard a man near him shout “I’m blind! I can’t see!”
“Me too,” Tom muttered. He was in too much shock to bring his voice loud enough for anyone to hear. He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped, startled.
“Can you help me?” the voice said. He turned his head in the direction of the sound. Still, he saw nothing, but he recognised it was an older man’s voice.
“I... I can’t help anyone,” Tom said. “I can’t see.”
“Me neither,” said the man. Tom stood and placed his hands on the man’s shoulders. The old man mirrored Tom’s actions and placed both his hands on Tom’s shoulders. Tom collapsed forward into the stranger’s chest and wept.
To any passers-by, it would have cut a strange image. But Tom realised that wouldn’t be a problem. No one around here could see anything. He raised his head and faced the old man.
“What’s happened?” he asked, wiping a tear from his face with the back of his hand.
“I don’t know,” replied the old man. ‘But from what I can hear, it sounds like it’s happened to a few people. How old are you, son?”
“I’m sixteen,” Tom replied. “I need to get back to my parents.”
“Where do you live?”
“I live in Westfields. It’s two buses from here.’
Tom heard the man sharply intake his breath.
“How far to walk?”
“About ten miles. Never walked into town or back. I suppose it can be done but I wouldn’t be sure which direction.’
“Ok, son. You stick with me. We’ll work this out.”
Tom took his hands off the man’s shoulders and reached into his pockets. His fingers curled around the hard plastic of his mobile phone.
“I’ll try and ring them,” he told the old man. He placed the phone in his palm and realised he was still trying to see it. He used the fingerprint recognition to unlock the phone and held the button down to speak. “Phone Mum,” he said, into the device.
He placed the phone to his ear. After the third ring, a tearful voice answered.
“H-Hello?”
“Mum! Mum, it’s me!”
“Tom... Tom. Me and your father are both- “
‘Blind? Mum I’m scared. I can’t see either. I can’t see anything at all. Mum what can I do?”
“Me and your father. It’s all black. We’re scared too, son-” she stopped as the phone cut out. Her voice was replaced by silence, followed by the sound of chaos around Tom.
He tried to call again but the phone was dead.
“What did she say?” The old man asked.
“They’re blind too.” He began to cry again.
The old man clumsily reached for Tom’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. Tom smiled and thought of his parents sat together scared at home. He had never seen – heard - his parents scared before. Multiple thoughts swam around his head, eclipsing the rowdy background noise. What was happening? What was the flash of light? Was everyone blind? How far did it spread? His thoughts were interrupted by a loud, high pitched screech of tyres. He felt the old man’s squeeze turn into a grab before he was thrown sideways. He heard a loud crash followed by a yelp of agony. Then a steamy, sizzling sound. Tom tried to piece together the image in his mind. All his life he had interpreted his surroundings in the form of images. It was the only way he knew to understand what was happening. Despite his new blindness, he could picture the scene in his head. Someone had driven a car into the pavement that Tom and the old man had been standing on. The old man had pushed him out of the way.
Tom turned and crawled towards the gassy noise on his hands and knees. He realised that he had never even asked the man’s name.
“Mate?” he shouted. “Old man? It’s Tom. Where are you?” Had Tom even told the man his own name? He couldn’t remember.
He heard the sound of a car door open and a large groan. It wasn’t the voice of the old man.
“Shit. Argh I broke my nose. What’s happening? Why am I blind?” the new voice bellowed. Tom ignored it and crawled on. He felt the hot metal of the car. Tracing his hands around its shape, he identified the bulky metal in front of him as the car bonnet. He moved to his right and felt the crumpled front of the car and the wall that it collided with. His hands continued searching and came upon something soft and fleshy. He grabbed it firmly and realised it was an arm.
“Old man?” he asked, quietly. His hands traced upwards onto the face. He thought it was a man by the shape of his nose and chin. His hand found the man’s hair; it felt thin and sporadic across a winkled scalp. Tom leaned forward and placed his ear over the man’s face. He couldn’t hear breathing. He placed his two forefingers on the man’s neck, where the pulse should have been. There was no pulse. The old man had died to save Tom’s life. For the second time in a matter of minutes, Tom buried his head in the old man’s chest and wept loudly.
2
Tom picked himself up and walked in the direction of the bus station. He walked with his arms out, feeling like a zombie out of a 1980s movie. It was worth it; his hands felt lampposts, sign posts and several people running, panicking and bustling their way past him. Why didn’t I stay home today? He thought to himself. The idea of sitting with his parents working out how to get through this was much more appealing than the busy street he found himself in. He choked back tears as he felt the warm breath of a passer-by, who shouted piss off in his face. He heard bellowing screams of anguish and panic and more screeching tyres. His lack of vision had made his hearing extremely sensitive, to the extent that each high-pitched sound made him recoil in pain. His eyes still burned and his head pounded. He heard a loud sound from above, a whirring and mechanical sound. A helicopter? Tom wasn’t sure.
Someone pushed past him, sending Tom sprawling to the ground. He landed on something hard. “Oi! Who’s there? Who’s that?” He had landed on a woman.
“Sorry,” Tom said, pulling himself back to his feet. “You blind too?” he asked.
“Yep. May as well lie down here and die,” the woman replied.
“I don’t know what to do,” Tom said. He felt tears rise to his eyes once more.
“Nothing you can do, kid. Terrorists have outdone themselves this time,” she said.
“Terrorists?”
“What else do you think this is? You not see that flash? That explosion? What did you think it was? Aliens?”
“I suppose I just haven’t had time to think. My eyes really hurt.”
“They’ve probably been burned out.”
Tom felt his eyes. They felt normal. He flinched as his finger touched the wet front of his eyeball.
“What do we do now then?” Tom asked.
“Like I said. We die. Leave me alone. Let me die.”
Tom stood up and continued walking aimlessly with his arms outstretched. Terrorists? Could it be true? It was better than any other explanation he could think of. Suddenly, walking onwards, his hands reached out and touched somebody’s face and he felt a sudden large dull thud in his nose, causing him to career backwards and lose his footing. I’ve been punched, he realised. He slumped against a wall and hit the back of his head.
“Get the fuck off me!’ the unseen assailant shouted. Tom felt the warm, coppery taste of blood as it fell from his nose and dripped into his open mouth. He sat against the wall and made a decision to stay seated. Maybe help will come, he thought. Maybe staying still is safest.
Tom put his head back and closed his eyes tightly. Opening or closing his eyes made no difference, everything was still black. Out of shock, or fatigue, he began to doze. Soon he was fast asleep.
3
The sound of rapid gunfire woke him up abruptly. He felt a cold panic when he awoke to darkness, before his memory of the explosion returned. He heard screaming and more gunfire. A high, sharp sound pierced the air, like something finding its tune, a microphone that didn’t have the right setting. Tom heard a loud voice with an echo-like ring surrounding it. He realised it was some kind of megaphone. He shut his eyes tightly again in an attempt to concentrate on the words that were bellowing out of the megaphone. It sounded around half a mile away but was getting closer. It’s on a vehicle, Tom realised.
“We have taken over,” the voice said. “Please stay calm. We have taken over your territory. We are Sirus. We have taken over your territory. Stay still and await further instructions. Your compliance will ensure your safety. I repeat, compliance will ensure safety.”
Tom pushed the back of his head against the brick wall, causing a sharp bolt of pain. Pain was good. It was a feeling; it proved he was still alive.
Sirus. Of course, it was Sirus. A growing terror organisation, they had caused several large-scale incidents around the world. A huge explosion in London, a plan hijack over Eastern Europe and a kidnapping in South America. They had been on the news several times over the last few weeks. Although Tom didn’t pay much attention to news reports, it was impossible to avoid all the social media posts to commemorate the victims. The piece that really stuck in Tom’s mind was the one by the BBC about how Sirus was an ‘unknown quantity’. They were not affiliated to any religion. They seemingly had no agenda. Their members were all recruited anonymously online. They came from all countries, all religions. They claimed the attacks in London, Eastern Europe and South America through videos shared on social media and their entire agenda appeared to centre around death, destruction and interruption. They committed acts of terrorism out of pure evil. But what could they achieve with this, an attack on Tunville, my little city? An attack to turn people blind? What could that get them? The thoughts raced around his aching head.
Tom stood. The chaotic sounds he could hear before had been replaced by a low stirring, like the chatter that can be heard in quiet points during a football game. The muttering was silenced by a loud rattle of gunfire.
“Listen up!” A voice shouted. This was a man, he wasn’t using a loudspeaker, he was shouting from less than thirty yards away. “We are Sirus. We have taken over this city. You will all be experiencing blindness. At eleven forty-two this morning we unleashed a chemical weapon that rendered your optic nerves useless. This is permanent. None of you will ever see again.”
There was a large outpouring of noise. Tom identified several emotions including grief, anger and confusion. His own emotions were numb.
“This city will be under our charge. You will line up on this street. You will place a hand on the person in front of you. And you will walk forwards on my command. Now. All follow my voice and come here.”
‘Why? Why are you doing this?” a male voice shouted to the left of Tom. The next sound he heard was loud, piercing gunfire and a cry of pain, followed by a slumping noise. The terrorist had shot the man stone dead.
Tom walked towards the terrorist’s voice, holding his hands out in front of his body. His heart raced with terror.
“Well done, kid. You’re first here,” the terrorist said. He raised his voice to address the rest of the crowd. “You all follow this boy’s lead. Come here!”
Tom felt someone put their hand on his shoulder. The muttering sounds seemed to gather and increase behind him. I’m leading the way, he thought to himself with some panic. He heard more shuffling behind him.
“OK,” shouted the Terrorist. “Everyone in this line will live. You are all going to the town hall at the end of this street. On my command, you will walk. Anyone not in this line will be shot dead in... Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven...”
Tom gulped.
“Six. Five.”
Tom moved his head around, willing himself to see again. “Just join us. Come on!” he shouted to no one. To everyone. He assumed that there were people stood or sitting, refusing to join the line. He felt a firm hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, kid. That’s my job.” The terrorist’s voice was soft and calm. Tom felt the terrorist’s breath on his face. It smelt of strong coffee.
“Time’s up!” the terrorist shouted. Tom put his hands over his ears as the sound of gunfire rang out in front of him, behind him and to the sides. They were slaughtering people. Killing them for not complying with their instructions. He shook his head, tears rolled down his cheeks.
“No. No! This is wrong. You can’t-” the terrorist cut him off with a jab to the ribs. Tom heard a crunch as one of his ribs cracked with the blow.
‘Shut up, kid,” the terrorist said. “Shut up and you’ll live. Now walk!”
Tom walked forward slowly, tears rolling down his face.
4
Tom walked forward, still holding both hands out. He felt the grip on his shoulder from the person behind him. The presence of the terrorist to his right was heavy. Even without his vision, Tom could just sense he was there.
“Why?” Tom asked, through tears.
“Shut up, kid. This is your last warning. That’s official.”
Tom obeyed. What could they be gaining from this? He wanted to know. Wanted to find out. But he didn’t want to get shot doing it.
“STOP!” shouted the terrorist. “RIGHT TURN!”
Tom turned right and continued walking. He was guided through a doorway and then through to a room. The reverberating echoes of the terrorist’s voice made him realise they were in the town hall, a large, dome-shaped auditorium.
“Now sit!” shouted the terrorist.
Tom sat and heard several people sit down after him, in the same row. He could hear faint gunfire in the distance at the same time as people behind him took their seats.
After several minutes of shuffling, he could hear some furniture being moved at the front of the room. From previous visits to the town hall, it was where he remembered the stage to be.
He heard the now familiar sound of a microphone finding the right tone. This time it was a real microphone, not a megaphone.
“Hello, ladies and gentleman!” a voice spoke. It was a different accent to the terrorist that had spoken to Tom. “Welcome to Sirus Headquarters. You’re watching us as we take over the city of Tunnville. Look at these people.”
Tom listened and realised that the people in the room were not the intended audience for this speech. They were being broadcast to another audience.
“We have rendered every person in this city blind,” the voice continued. Each word was enunciated clearly and powerfully. “Look at them. They are weak, powerless and pathetic. This great city of fifty-thousand people. Each one now impotent. This is what we can do. This country. This world. We can bring it to its knees.”
“You can piss off!” a voice shouted from behind Tom. A huge crack sounded immediately, a gunshot. Tom assumed the worst had happened to the dissenter.
“We will broadcast this live on social media in five minutes,” the speaker continued. “If we get over ten thousand likes within ten minutes, we will kill this city. We have aeroplanes ready to fly over and drop tonnes of explosives. Each person in this city will die. If we get less than ten thousand likes, we will put our guns away and leave. These people will live with their blindness. But they will live all the same. And you will treat this as a warning. Look out on social media. Five minutes. You decide if this city lives or dies.”
Tom put his head down. What were they trying to achieve? Disruptive Terrorism, the newspapers had called it. Terror for the sake of terror. He laughed, more out of fury than humour. Why me? Of all the cities in the world, all the times, all the people, why me?
“What... what do you think?” he said to his right-hand side.
It was a female voice that answered, through thick sobs: “We’re gonna die.”
“No,” Tom replied. “No, of course we’re not. Do you really think people are that bad? You think people would press that button? You think they’ll kill us using their phones? No one will even tune in. You really think ten thousand people will choose to kill us? Anyway, the social media companies will turn it off straight away.”
“I don’t know,” she sobbed. “But even if we live, I’m blind. I’ll never see anyone ever again.”
Tom put his arm around her and pulled her close. Of course, she was right. Life would never be the same again. No more sight. How would he even get back to his parents? Would the terrorists even let them all go alive anyway?
“Right, here we are!” the terrorist at the font of the room shouted. “The moment of truth! We are live and direct, ladies and gentlemen. We’re waiting to see how far you will go to see the death of these people.”
Tom squirmed in his seat. Surely people would switch off? Surely people would see reason?
“Thank you, thank you! For the benefit of our live studio audience, we are two thousand likes up, within a minute. A fifth of the way there. Keep going! Remember, ten thousand likes sees the death of this city.”
Tom heard a humming sound above. Aeroplanes? He gulped.
“Four thousand likes, ladies and gentlemen. Four minutes gone. It’s going to be close!”
The woman next to Tom started shouting: “No! No! It can’t happen it can’t- “
“Shut it, lady,” a voice came from Tom’s left-hand side called out. “One more word out of you and you’re gone.”
“You took my eyes. You took my-“
A flurry of gunfire silenced her. Tom cried in agony as white hot pain seared against his elbow. One of the bullets had grazed him.
“Another dissenter gone!” shouted the man on the stage, “How many more? Seven thousand likes and we have two minutes left. How many of you want to see these people die? This city will explode with another three thousand likes. The death of fifty-thousand people will be on your hands, ladies and gentleman. Their blood, your hands. If you like it, press like. If you want them to die, press that button. Go! Go! Go!”
Tom put his hand to his right and grabbed the hand of the dead woman next to him. The hand was cold and already beginning to stiffen. He wept.
“Nine thousand likes! Ladies and gentleman, you are witnessing something historic here. Something that will change the world forever. A few more likes and this entire city will explode. I will die. Everyone in this room will die. Everyone in this city will die. And this is in your hands, ladies and gentlemen. It is in your hands. Only you can kill these people. This is Sirus. This is not terrorism. This is democracy. We stand for the voice of the people. If people say we are evil, we are a reflection of society. If we are wrong, you are wrong. If we are evil, society is evil. We have left it up to you, ladies and gentlemen. And you have spoken.”
Tom grabbed the dead woman’s hand tighter. Surely the likes would stop. Was it a hoax? Would they let them go regardless? Were they lying about the number of likes?
“We’ve done it!” the voice said. “We’re on ten thousand likes and rising. The people have spoken. And we will live forever. See it. Hear it. Feel it.” Tom got the impression that the terrorist was outstretching his arms and rolling his head back, based on the tone and velocity of his voice.
“Remember this day. Remember this time. The day the people ordered the annihilation of a city, the day the people spoke and the word was death. Goodbye.”
Tom squeezed the dead woman’s hand tightly as a soft rumbling sound became louder and louder. He felt the sudden and agonising experience of his body ripping into several pieces with an explosion of bright white light.
