Nuclear Norman

I’m living in a place called Embury. It is next to a nuclear power station. Our house, like the others, has radiation alarms fitted. It keeps going off, as a false alarm. My dad disabled it. 
I fix the alarm. Radiation is dangerously high. I need to leave. My brother is visiting with his family. I give them respirators, and tell them to run as fast as they can. I take the last respirator, and some emergency food, and set off, in a different direction. 
The town is busy. Shoppers. Protestors. I shout at people that there’s been an accident at the power plant. Very few respond. Most just stare in disbelief, or question me for more details. I don’t stop for a discussion. I know that to survive I have to keep moving. 
I run and walk, though town after town. In this town, a riot, police kettling people, I know I have to get past them. I tell them I’m in the RAF cadets. They let me through. 
I enter a house where a TV broadcast is being made by Norman Tebbit in a white lab coat and a chef’s hat. I tell him about the accident. He lets me address the cameras, appealing for information about my parents,and warning people to leave the affected area. 
Norman gets a policeman, and explains that they have to let people through. 
I continue on my journey. 
I gather with a group, we need each other for support. I mark lines with my foot on a golf course, to delineate our territory. Two other groups do the same. 
An old man with a gun approaches from another group. He’s looking for his wife. I disarm him, and let him look. We enter the club house. I try to convince him our groups should join forces. He looks nervous. He scrawls on s piece of paper, “they’re already here”, a reference to an evil group we’ve all been trying to avoid. 
A woman steps from the shadows. We are compromised. We have to move. 


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