Apocalypse Now... please?

If popular culture has taught me anything (and I like to think it has), it is that we are most likely to perish as a species in a thermonuclear fire-storm or a zombie pandemic. Though radically different, these apocalypses involve a great deal of mass panic before the dying starts. As such, there are themes common to both that may just dissuade booking any long-term holidays.

I’m sure there is some kind of national information service for these things but I think most people will get wind of things beforehand. Those hard-wired into the blogosphere and interwebs will pick it up, like any other news, on Twitter and Facebook first – “#OMGZOMBIES is trending on Twitter. Find out why.” Those of us with one foot in the present will receive a pertinent text message from a loved one – “Fallout imminent. In bunker. Bring biccies. Luv =) x.” As such, there will already be micro-panics occurring before the reality hits BBC News 24, but only once Huw Edwards is handed the copy-sheet, the real panic will begin.

Feral mobs killing each other over a crate of tinned peaches is quite an Americanised idea. I’m not sure how well it will translate across the Atlantic. Of course, there will be a rush for all canned foods and bottled water but we will still queue and pay as is proper. There will be traffic chaos on Kensington High Street as all the yummy–mummies of Notting Hill swarm the Whole Foods Market, ignoring all the corner–shops they passed on the way. The end of the world is no time to start developing bad habits. Maybe, if we’re in a real pinch, we won’t ask for cash–back. The panic will be evident however in a glut of foot–tapping and sighs of exasperation.

With the last ever weekly shop done, people will go out looting. This will be a competitive affair; people will only loot once their neighbours are home, so they know what they have to beat. Admittedly, surpassing the Jones’ plasma-screen HDTV becomes academic once the EMP/bloodthirsty horde hits the power plants. Imperial students are more practical beings. They will take as many tankards as possible from the Union Bar – the beer, however, they will leave.

Then comes the moment of realising the answers to “If you could get away with anything, what would you do?” With possibly hours left in existence, the idea of consequences quietly dissolves and traditional morality caves in on itself. To my female readers, I give a warning: arm yourselves, as heavily and by any means possible. Total annihilation can turn people into desperate creatures...as if the Imperial student body wasn’t desperate enough already. Thinking of it, as an addendum, ladies, buy a safe for your calculators too.

At this point, our potential fates diverge. In the case of nuclear holocaust, anyone caught outside of Blackett is dead. The end. An undead plague is more perfidious, and there is a strong possibility of survivors for several weeks at least. Blackett, Queen’s Tower and Charing Cross Hospital are all potential sites to hole up in, situated in trendy boroughs of West London, part-furnished, perfect for students and flat-sharers. My advice here is to avoid the Tube. London Underground is not renowned for its reliability; do you think things will improve after an apocalypse? The Circle Line, at least, will invariably be down.

Now, this vision of the future may seem dystopic to you but I consider it a win-win situation. I’m an optimist. Firstly, if I’m among the countless millions dead, I won’t be too bothered that I missed out on the looting. And if I survive, if I’m one of the few who have lost everything I hold dear, at least I’m alive and I have my health.

Until the radiation sickness or zombie virus get me.