Apocalyptic Utopia

I am huddled, alone, in the darkest corner of an old, ruined shop. The air is filled with the loathsome, guttural groans of the decaying, walking dead. The zombie apocalypse, so long in coming, is here. Now. My beloved family, dear friends, all gone. And now they hunt me. Soon it will be my turn. I am their prey.

A sudden surge of defiance lifts me to my feet. With defiance comes an unexpected, desperate courage. I sprint towards the front of the shop, leap through the already shattered window, and up onto the roof of a long abandoned car. The zombie horde close around the car. I am surrounded by familiar faces now distorted in a ghastly rictus of ravenous hunger. For me.

Quickly I turn and spring for the overhanging patio canopy. My hands find the metal edge, cling, and I am up, standing on the flimsy canvas. From somewhere above a low hum intrudes. An engine! A plane! The hum grows louder. It is coming closer. I have to get to the roof, it is my only hope. I reach for the ledge above my head and, with the last of my strength, heave myself up and from there to the roof.

Now I see it isn’t a plane. Coming straight at me is a huge air balloon. It is being pushed gently through the air by propellers. Below it hangs a huge wicker basket. I see passengers, as torn and exhausted as me. There is a well-dressed captain barking orders. They see me. The balloon stops, hovers above. A rope ladder is dropped, and with a new strength, born from hope, I climb eagerly. The haunting groans of the dead float up from far below. Lassitude and relief flood through me. I feel safe. I lie on the wicker floor and fall deeply asleep.

Brightness, brightness and colour, like something from a story book, seeps under my eyelids and wake me. I look up at my new companions. Excitement and fresh vigour light their faces. I get to my feet and I see what they have already seen.

It is a new Utopia. Perched on the unreachable heights of a brilliantly green mountain, it is surrounded by perpendicular cliffs falling steeply away to sharp rocks thousands of feet below. There are buildings, pueblo-style, blue tiled roofs contrasting sharply with bright white walls.  I breathe deeply. My nostrils flare as I inhale the clean, brisk air. I detect a hint of cinnamon.

It’s a busy scene. Like bees homing on their hive, there are aircraft of all shapes and sizes milling round and coming in to land their precious, untainted, human cargo.

“Is this a place the virus didn’t touch?” I ask the well-dressed captain.

He is the strong, silent type. He nods and replies briefly in an accent I don’t recognise. “Here, we are above the plague.”

We land gracefully and the clean people already there smile and welcome us.

A young girl faces me. She is carrying a black roll and a survival pack. The pack is yellow, the colour of hope. “I’ve been assigned to you,” the girl says. “I’ll take you to our safe place.” She thrusts the black roll and the survival pack at me. “These are yours,” she says. “come with me. I’ll show you to your temporary campsite.”

We walk and I see sidewalks and signs on every corner. There are no vehicles of any kind. I follow her round a number of turns until we approach a huge, grassy knoll. Small plots are marked out every few feet, all with reserved signs on them. We arrive at the girl’s plot. She explains I should not unpack anything until the time is right.

“Which plot will be mine?” I ask her.

“Follow me,” she says smiling, and steps sideways to the next plot. She raises her arms theatrically. “Ta da!” She smiles again. “We are neighbours!”

I am happy. It is so good to feel I already have a friend in this new place. I leave my things on the plot and we set out for the largest building in this mountain-top Utopia.