Atomic

Once upon a time, it had been the shrill screeching beep of an alarm clock that woke Nicholas Fawkes up for school. Now, it’s the melodic tones of his mobile phone. Ultimately it’s just as annoying, but it’s also a lot easier to hit the snooze button.

Five minutes pass, he opens one eye, picks the phone up and checks the timer. Five more minutes before the alarm goes off again. If he closes his eye he can have five more minutes sleep.

It’s not long enough. The phone’s melody calls out to him again, should he hit snooze again? Probably not, but he does. Great, another ten minutes. But this is it this time, no more pushing back the inevitable.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

Off it goes again.

Nicholas sighs now, and finally clicks stop rather than snooze, and just lies there for a few minutes. Just adjusting to being awake. Had he been dreaming at all? He isn’t sure. If he had been he can’t remember it now.

A few minutes pass, and now he really has to get up. No more lying in. He needs to go and take a shower. So up he gets, sitting slowly and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to place his bare feet down on the laminate wood floor boards below.

A shiver instantly travels up his body, causing him to shudder. Mornings are always way too cold.

Finally he stands, and makes his way over to his wardrobe. He slides one of the black painted doors open, and pulls a towel out from one of the shelves inside, and then takes it through to the bathroom, where he sets the temperature of the shower, and turns it on to let it run for a little while before he undresses from his bed clothes, and steps into the warm flow of water.

Friday today, week B schedule. He thinks to himself. Double maths, PE, chemistry, German and geography. Not an overly bad day lies ahead of him.

He washes quickly, and then turns the shower off before stepping out and towelling himself dry, then cleaning his teeth and heading back to his room with the towel wrapped around his waist. It’s only across the landing, literally out of one door, and straight into the next the flat is that small.

There isn’t a lot of choice when it comes to clothing, it school uniform or school uniform. There is no other choice. The only choice he can really make is the colour of his underpants. So as he has that choice, he decides on something his friends would consider stupid... Elmo boxers. Everything else he set out ready last night. White button down shirt with a blue tie, black trousers, a blazer and smart yet scuffed black shoes. It’s not the worst of uniforms, but it certainly isn’t the best.

Finally heading along to the kitchen, Nicholas decides to skip breakfast, choosing instead just to pick up the money that has been left for him on the side by his mother. His bag lies on the floor next to the front door, so with a sigh, he goes over to it, picks it up, and leaves the flat.

As he heads down the stairs, and emerges through the exterior door, the heavens open; and so he quickly heads back up to the flat, reopens the front door and grabs a waterproof jacket to slip on over his uniform, before heading back down the stairs, and out onto the harbour side, with his hood up over his mop of dark brown - almost black hair.

With his bag slung over his shoulder, he makes his way down towards the old ferry terminal, and looks up, noticing an unusual sight. There is a ship docked, off of which a shipping container is being hoisted.

‘That’s odd.’ He thinks. ‘Ships don’t dock here’.

Still, he just shakes it off, wipes his dripping wet fringe out of his eyes, and crosses the road over to the promenade heading towards the bus shelters as quickly as he possibly can. He walks with his hands in his pockets and his head down. Winter here is always so quiet. In the summer he would be walking across the road, going to the beach for his summer job in one of the kiosks. And the promenade would be so full it would be impossible to move nearly. But not now, now it’s calm, eerie calm, almost like a living dead town. That is until a loud screech can be heard, followed by a loud horn honking.

He turns.

The sound of the smash is deafening. The ground shakes greatly as a truck’s trailer overturns onto the promenade, and it’s contents begin to spill over the road and the pavement.

The driver of the truck jumps down from the cab immediately. His heart racing, like a race car that seems to be continuously revving as it speeds up and up and up.

“Are you okay?” He hears a voice, and turns to look at whoever has asked the question, clearly in shock.

“There was a kid.” The driver gasps, and repeats. “There was a kid.”

Immediately the world around the man seems to take off. Multiple people spring into action around him, all with the good intention of trying to calm him down, trying to help the kid who has been crushed by the container on the trailer. But ultimately there is no help for the kid underneath there, there is no way anyone could have survived the full weight of a shipping container falling on top of them.

As suddenly as the accident had happened, six jet black Mercedes pull up and surround the scene, along with several police cars. People are ordered to stand back, they are physically pulled away, told that a possible chemical leak has occurred. The immediate area is contaminated and unsafe, all must move back.

“I’m sorry.” A voice calls out. “I’m sorry I wasn’t looking where... I was on the phone I’m sorry.”

A police officer walks over to the panic and grief stricken driver of a car that had been on the wrong side of the road.

Chaos would be an accurate word to describe the scene. An evacuation is put into place, anyone and everyone who is not needed specifically at the scene is taken across the road, to the many local businesses and hotels. A wide codrdon is put into place around the crash site, and a fuller cover blockade put in place, making the entire scene cut off from view.

Back at the harbour, towards the back of the marina, is a large supermarket. Inside, working on one of the many checkouts, a woman in her early thirties sits scanning various items that customers place down on the conveyor of her check out. She talks happily with the customers, engaging them in small talk about their day. One regular even makes a comment about how nice she looks with her dark blonde hair down rather than tied up. He tells her it brings out the green of her eyes. She just thanks him and wishes him a good day.

“Claire.” She hears her supervisor’s voice and turns to look up to him.

“Claire could you lock your till please? The police are here to talk to you.” He tells the woman, and so she does as she is told, and gets up to follow the man to the office, where another man, tall with similar almost black hair to Nicholas’ and incredibly dark eyes just like Nicholas’ and two police officers wait.

“Jon?” Claire asks the man. “What’s going on?” her voice laced with concern. Her heart begins to pound like a snare drum in her ribcage. Pounding so hard it hurts, her mind instantly goes to the person who means the most to her in the entire world, her son. Nicholas.

“Miss Fawkes.” One of the officers begins with a heavy tone to his voice. “I’m chief superintendent Darren Flaherty, and this is inspector Laura Cullen of the Dorset county police.”

“No.” Claire jumps to conclusions and shakes her head, she’s seen enough on television to know what news these encounters can lead to.

“At eight twenty three this morning, a boy who we think may have been your son Nicholas was involved in an accident.” The officer starts to explain, and is cut off by Claire.

“Is Nick Alive?” Jon asks, shaking as he holds on to an also shaking Claire.

“Mr Hanley, Miss Fawkes...” Officer Cullen begins, and pulls a clear plastic bag out of a case she has with her. “Do you recognise any of these items?”

Officer Cullen lays the bag down on the desk that stands in the centre of the small office. Inside are a blood soaked iPhone, a wallet, and a watch.

Claire can’t help but gasp.

“They’re Nick’s.” She confirms.

“Miss Fawkes I am so sorry. But the boy we retrieved these items from did not survive the accident.” Officer Flaherty speaks with a soft tone. There really was no gentle or easy way to break the news. There never is.

“I’m so sorry.” Flaherty apologises again as Claire wails loudly, completely oblivious to the true scene that is unfolding Just over half a mile away.