It had been an unimaginable day; every inch of his body had been screaming out, in pain and yet, something in the blinding white pain had relieved him. Even now as his very own body was about to break, he suddenly realised, and he understood why they had done what they did. Nothing had made any sense as he got up that morning lying face down in a pool of his own vomit.
Even as he stood up a dull wave of nausea passed through him, followed by a shudder against the cold heavy rain, as he supported his head in his hands he took in his surroundings an unknown backstreet with graffiti on the walls and a burnt-out car. He looked down himself and saw his suit was covered in vomit. He had no idea how he had got there but he knew he should get home. Heading to the end of the street he looked out and saw it was still dark in the sky.
Looking around for a street name and saw he was on Brick Lane, in Poplar, and then he realised he was on the other side of the Thames to where he lived at 35 Lordship Lane in Dulwich. As he started pacing down the road, rain was still falling hard and the water had had made oily streams filled the road and pavement like raging rivers. Some cars were already driving so he kept a lookout for any taxis which might be looking for a fare as money was no object to him.
Soon he had managed to hail a cab and was soon home, as he pulled up to his £7million house he realised how pointless all this money was soon he was changed and showered and he decided on heading down to the Thames to brighten up his dark mood. It was raining even more heavily than earlier and as he arrived he noticed how high the river was, but as he had a nice 427 Catalina 42foot boat to take out, it had been moored on Coldharbour lane and for the first time that day he smiled. Soon he was powering down towards the Thames barrier, as it came into view something which struck the smile from his face and chilled him to the core.
There was a fully laden freighter heading straight for the centre of the Thames barrier, the murky lights in the bridge of the ship the helmsman desperately trying to avoid the colossus of the barrier; then with an almighty grinding of metal against metal, sparks flew and the ship pierced the gate like a knife through butter, then over by the control room on the barrier shone red through the rain and chaos. A torrent of water dislodged its self through the barrier taking the freighter too and it listed and capsized like a canoe in rapids.
The torrent soon reached his boat sweeping it down as if he were a fly in a hurricane. He flew down the river and the embankment disappeared under a dirty torrent of water, still flying down the river the London Eye’s bright lights were extinguished and those faces inside were clad in a mask of pure horror searching for a way out, the lowest pod was covered in water and a fountain of sparks flew out of the control box. A couple flew out of the top pod and hit the water with a huge splash, but when they resurfaced they were fifty meters from the pod and still being swept away.
Finally he managed to get the boat to move on its own accord, and he was heading down the streets of London that he had known so well, he looked down at the water and saw the mass of rubbish floating around the lake that was London. All the buildings were dark and wet and terrified faces stared down at the boat, their eyes betraying the knowledge, they were trapped. Some other boats were powering around the buildings and some were stopping and helping people, others were floating away with no crew, looking like ghost ships in the rain.
He was soon out over a vast expanse where, buildings were amiss and when he looked over the edge of the boat and saw a lamppost and tree tops and realised he was over a park. Over the other side of the boat a shape drifted past and a current turned it over and a cold, dead face stared up and he threw up over the side and managed to steady himself enough to head towards Buckingham Palace. When he arrived there a helicopter flew overhead with the royal insignia on its side, he thought to himself “well at least someone is getting out”.
Powering round towards his office he slowed down as he went under a bridge and all of a sudden there was a thud behind him and as he turned he saw a dark object flying towards him and he felt an explosion of white pain and then the world went dark. He woke up in a dark room illuminated by a single white light a silhouette in the lights way as he looked around he caught the glisten of light on water, then light seemed to shimmer in through portholes and he realised he was onboard his own ship. As the figure emerged he reminded him of football hooligans he had seem in the 80’s.
Seeing a glisten in the hooligans hand he assumed it was a knife and lunged at him hitting him square in the face, then a foot in the back spine made him lean backwards he felt a punch in the stomach and fell against the wall. When he looked down he saw the hilt of a knife protruding from his stomach and saw his blood staining his already wet shirt and only then did the feeling of immense pain seep out and he sank to the floor. He looked around at these shadowy figures and he realised that they were doing this to get out of London, out of the rain, out of the water; they were doing this to survive.