《Brink》


 01. Hannibal

    Chapter 1


    John


    03-11-2022


    John looked over the grassland. Winter had been harsh on him these last few days. His nose ran and his feet felt numb in their rubber boots. He rubbed his beard with his gloved hand. Little particles of ice broke off from it. The sun stood high in the sky, but the grey and white clouds didn¡¯t let any real rays come through, making the sight only grimmer.


    ¡®What do you want to be later?¡¯


    The words which he had listened to many years ago still echoed through the cavern of his mind. He leaned on the steel battlement of the wall. He gripped his gun tightly, keeping his finger off the trigger.


    He had to make a choice at that moment. He could have either played it safe, or try to impress with ambition. Both options would have probably left him stranded in the position where he was now. What had happened in the last 20 years? What possible explanation could be given for all of this?


    He didn¡¯t want to think about it too much. He had to focus. He looked down the sight of his gun and sighed. His breath almost crystalized in the freezing cold. It reminded him to check the weapon for frost jamming. He unclicked the magazine and checked the ammunition inside.


    ¡®Are you nervous or something?¡¯ asked Robert cheekily.


    He sat next to John, also leant against the battlement. He was John¡¯s best friend, and they had grown up together before joining the task force. He was armed with the same assault rifle as John, and carried medical equipment. He was the medic of the squad.


    ¡®Don¡¯t get trigger-happy, John,¡¯ joked Mason. He was the joker of the squad. Most of his jokes were horrible, but he had his good moments. He was armed with a shotgun and carried explosives on his belt.


    ¡®Must be the silence,¡¯ commented Mike. He sat at John¡¯s other side, also leaning against the battlement, but facing the other direction. Mike was the quiet one of the squad, which suited his job. He was the sniper. His rifle had a big fat scope and he carried bullets twice the size of the others.


    John himself only had an assault rifle and two grenades strapped to his belt.


    ¡®Mike, is it me, or are you facing the wrong way?¡¯ asked John jokingly.


    ¡®It¡¯s you, mate. I¡¯m facing the right way, as far as I¡¯m concerned,¡¯ answered the man.


    John just scoffed. He knew there was no arguing with him, and gave up the attempt.


    ¡®Do you want to know why I¡¯m facing the right way, and you¡¯re facing the wrong?¡¯ asked Mike with a grin on his face.


    John looked over his shoulder and met Mike¡¯s eyes with his. He then boringly shook his head. ¡®Nah.¡¯


    ¡®Pff, you take the fun out of anything, don¡¯t you?¡¯ chuckled Mike as John turned his head towards the fields again. ¡®We have been here for three days. There is a steel barricade, 30 metres long, in between two convenient cliff-faces, overlooking nothing but grass, guarded by four men. The enemy will not come here, because they have nothing to gain.¡¯


    John looked at Mike. ¡®You¡¯re so full of yourself, you know?¡¯


    As the day continued, lingering, time slowly passing them by, it turned out that Mike had been right. The enemy did not come that day either, just like the last three days. The men walked back to their tents. The camp was put up at an altitude of 2190 meters above sea-level. What the men guarded was the Little St Bernard Pass, in the Alps.


    ¡®You know, this is one of the passes which Hannibal may have had taken as a path through the Alps,¡¯ said John, as they arrived.


    ¡®What the fuck are you suddenly on about?¡¯ asked Mason.


    ¡®Hannibal,¡¯ repeated John.


    Mason glared at him with a face as if he saw a vagina for the first time.


    ¡®Are you fucking serious? You don¡¯t know Hannibal?¡¯


    Mason looked around at the others. ¡®Do you guys know what he¡¯s talking about?¡¯


    ¡®Yeah. Hannibal. Carthaginian general. Outsmarted the Romans by taking the Alps as a route instead of Sicily,¡¯ said Robert.


    Mason was absolutely overwhelmed by what he was hearing. ¡®You know, I think I¡¯m going to take a nap. Wake me up for our five-star dinner.¡¯


    ¡®What do you want?¡¯ asked Robert, holding up a few packets of instant food.


    ¡®Pasta and meatballs, of course.¡¯


    Robert sighed. ¡®Everyone wants pasta and fucking meatballs¡­¡¯


    Three hours later, Robert and John lay beside each other in their shared tent. The second tent was shared between Mike and Mason. John had taken his strap-on flashlight, strapped it over his forehead, and read his book in peace. Robert had already turned to go to sleep. John shivered a little, realising that it was time for him to go to bed as well. The man made a fold in the page, put the book beside him, pressed the button on his flashlight and took it off. He then pulled up his sleeping bag and let his body warm itself in the cocoon of wool.


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    John and Robert ran through the corridor.


    ¡®Get back here!¡¯ shouted their teacher, who stood in the doorway which the two boys just crashed through.


    ¡®Look what you got me into, Rob!


    ¡®Me!? Clearly your fault!¡¯


    The boys laughed dryly as they ran out of the corridor. John lay in his sleeping bag, remembering the good and easy times, before closing his eyes and falling asleep.


    The next morning, the soldiers found that the sky had not cleared. It didn¡¯t necessarily make it any colder, but at least it would have been nicer to look at. The men did their run towards the wall. They had to warm up. Their thick clothing stunk of humidity and dirt. Each of them had a backpack with their own needs for the day. They had been dropped here with the task to keep the enemy in front of the wall, but there had not been an enemy in sight since they were on the ground. There were other squads, placed in locations such as these to keep the ever-so-absent enemy out of the Alps, or at least, not make a way through them.


    When they arrived at the wall, they sat down in their usual position. They sat there for a few hours. Suddenly, Mike then stood up from his usual spot and turned around, facing the same way as everyone else.


    ¡®What¡¯s this? Mikey not so cocky anymore?¡¯ said Mason.


    ¡®Shut your trap, Mason. Listen.¡¯


    Everyone was silent. Every man turned his head, so that the wind didn¡¯t blow past his ears, and listened carefully. John heard it as well now. A metallic humming, low and deep.


    ¡®What is that?¡¯ Robert asked nervously.


    ¡®Whatever it is, it-¡¯


    Mike¡¯s sentence was interrupted by the sudden shriek of a missile and a nearby blast. All four of them turned towards the sound. It was in the field. A large burst of flame and veil of smoke erupted from the ground, no further than 50 metres away from their position. A split-second later, the shockwave blasted the gun from John¡¯s hands. The gun¡¯s strap was slung over his shoulder, so he did not lose the weapon.


    ¡®Holy fuck!¡¯ shouted Mason.


    There was no time for another curse to come from his mouth. A second explosion followed, this time only ten metres away. The blast threw all men off the ground. John felt the heat of the explosion on his face. He landed nastily on his side, with the gun poking him in the ribs. His ears rang fiercly, and he only heard muffled screams and shouts from his friends. He was the sergeant of this squad. The rest were all PFC¡¯s. He was the only one who had taken lessons in situation assessment. If there was anyone fit to give orders, it was him. And right now, he was unable to. Mike came into sight. John reached out with his hand, and the man grabbed it, pulling John back up. The ringing was not yet over. John looked around. Mason and Robert followed them as they ran across the length of the wall.


    John looked up. Large, darkening shadows appeared in the white and grey clouds. Large vessels and ships lowered themselves through the layer of clouds. They descended into vision. Their large front sides glared at them. There were at least seven. Four green lights blinked on the front, and at least six red lights on the side of the hull. It was like a huge rectangular space ship. A thing from books and movies. John¡¯s hearing faded back into functioning.


    ¡®Fucking ruuun!¡¯


    A flash of light brightened the clouds, and a missile descended from the steel hull of one of the large air vessels. A devastating blast followed as the missile erupted into a mix of fire and pure force. John felt the shockwave hit him in the back, followed by at least two seconds of air-time, wherein his arms and legs swung loosely, and he saw the sky, followed by the frozen, dark-green grassy ground, and then the sky again. He landed painfully on his back.


    The smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils and smoke stung in his eyes. He no longer felt the strap of his gun in his neck. His vision blurred. He blinked, and the sun was suddenly in a whole other position than before. He heard murmuring forces, and saw the silhouette of a man, who stopped by his head and towered above him. He spoke in an inaudible language, gesturing someone who John did not see. His vision faded, and everything went black.

 02. Auto-pilot

    Chapter 2


    Michael


    12-05-2018


    The alarm clock sounded. The obnoxious buzzer blared into Michael¡¯s head, waking him up from his good dream. It was still dark outside.  Michael glared at the red digits; 4:15 AM, 12th May, 2018. When he sat up, he realised he wasn¡¯t in the bedroom. Then his memory from the last night returned, in the blink of an eye. He had had a fight with his wife. He rubbed his eyes, and gave himself a few slaps on the forehead.


    ¡®You fucking wanker¡­¡¯ he whispered to himself in anger.


    He got onto his feet. The uniform hung on the chair with the help of a hanger. First, however, he put on a casual blue t-shirt and some jogging trousers, which he had put on the chair. He went to the kitchen, made himself a coffee and took a good look into the fridge. He took out everything he needed, and cooked himself an egg and some bacon. A half English breakfast he called it for himself. He turned on the television, muted it, and turned on the subtitles. He changed the channel a few times, and after realising that there wasn¡¯t anything really interesting, he switched the machine off again. He then went to sit at the table with his breakfast. He had grabbed two fresh slices of bread as well. He cut his egg and bacon and put it on his bread. He took two bites and a gulp from his coffee, after which he checked his watch. 05:00 AM. He had to hurry.


    As he ate the remainder of his breakfast quickly with one hand, he wrote a little note with the other. In the meantime, his six-year-old daughter had snuck down the stairs.


    ¡®Are you going already, daddy?¡¯


    Michael turned towards the little girl, startled. ¡®Hey, Amy, shouldn¡¯t you be in bed with mummy? I¡¯ll be back in a few days, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.¡¯


    Amy ran up to him and put her arms around his waist. ¡®I¡¯ll miss you, dad. You¡¯re not going because of mummy, right?¡¯


    Michael bent over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ¡®I¡¯ll miss you too, sweetie. Now go back to bed, before mum misses you. Of course I¡¯m not going to leave mummy. I have to fly through the sky again.¡¯ Michael grabbed the note. ¡®Take this to bed, and give it to mummy when you wake up, sweetie. Would you do that for me?¡¯


    The little girl nodded and took the note. As she walked over the tiled floor and back up the stairs, Michael took off his shirt and changed into his uniform.


    As he was busy with changing, his phone went. The vibrations buzzed on the glass table. He picked up.


    A low voice sounded. ¡®Have you done it? Have you got the stuff?¡¯


    Michael laughed; ¡®Shut up, twat. I¡¯m almost on my way.¡¯


    The man on the other side laughed. ¡®I¡¯ll see you when I see you.¡¯


    Michael hung up the phone and buttoned up his jacket. He went up the stairs, as quietly as possible. He opened the bedroom door. Amy lay in the arms of her sleeping mother. She opened her eyes and looked at Michael. He blew her a kiss. She caught it with her open hand. In the other hand, she had the note. The girl looked at her closed hand, and then put it on her mother¡¯s cheek with a smile. Michael¡¯s heart was filled with joy. He grinned and closed the door. With that same grin, he went back down the stairs. He got his bag, opened the door and went outside.


    5:20 AM. It didn¡¯t take long to get to Gatwick airport. At this time in the morning, it took only 30 minutes from Michael¡¯s house. There were some road-works, but since the road was almost empty, there was no big deal. He entered one of the parking lots and left his car in the garage. He wrote his section number on a piece of paper, which he then tucked safely into his wallet together with the parking ticket, which he then returned to his back pocket. There were surprisingly few people in the main hall of the terminal. When coming to the check-ins, he walked across the gigantic hallway, towards a special, ¡°only staff permitted¡± area. There his bag of hand luggage was checked and approved by the customs. He boarded the plane as the first passengers entered the boarding lounge. He handed his bag to one of the stewardesses, who stored it in a cabinet as he went through the door to the cockpit. His colleague was already seated in the co-pilot¡¯s seat.


    ¡®Good morning, Michael.¡¯


    ¡®Hey, James. Are you ready to fly this thing to New York?¡¯


    James grinned. ¡®Oh yes, my friend. The Big Apple. I¡¯m gonna spend a fine few days there. How are things with Serana and Amy?¡¯


    Michael frowned and buckled up. ¡®Not so great, to be honest. Had a heated argument yesterday.¡¯


    ¡®Aww, that¡¯s a shame to hear. Oh well, I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll get over it, mate. She¡¯ll be missing you soon enough.¡¯


    Michael grinned. ¡®I certainly hope so.¡¯


    Whilst the passengers boarded the plane, Michael and John looked everything over. Michael switched the ¡°No smoking¡± and ¡°Buckle seatbelts¡± signs on as James went over hydraulics and flaps.


    ¡®James, take care of the auto-pilot, would you?¡¯


    ¡®Sure thing¡¯, James answered.


    The two pilots were then finally done with checking all of the metres and settings. After 10 minutes of listening to the faint sounds of chatter, Rachel, the stewardess, was to be heard over the intercom of the cockpit.


    ¡®All the passengers are seated and buckled in.¡¯


    Michael took the microphone, checked the channel, and said ¡®Thank you, Rachel.¡¯


    James looked at him. Michael looked back. ¡®What?¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s my job. I do the talking, you do the flying.¡¯


    ¡®No no, auto-pilot does the flying. I can do the talking if I want to.¡¯


    James wanted to say something, but Michael shushed him and said ¡®Let me do the talking. I¡¯m much better at it anyways.¡¯


    He switched channel and held the talk button. ¡®Hello and good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Michael Riggory. I will be your captain for today. We head for the Big Apple. Me and my friend here will take care of your safety. Do not worry; I am more responsible than I sound.¡¯ Faint laughter filled the cockpit. ¡®You will be served a choice of breakfast, including some drinks. I¡¯d strongly advise the ¡°Hot Bacon Sandwich¡±. Also, I¡¯d strongly advise not to take a beer or champagne as your choice of drink, since it is almost 7:00 in the morning. Please make sure that you do not light a cigarette. I repeat: smoking is prohibited. Please turn off your cell-phone, because believe it or not, it actually does mess up our instruments.¡¯ More faint sounds of laughter. ''I hope you enjoy your flight.¡¯


    As Michael manually steered the plane towards the take-off lane, James did a final quick check on all the apparatuses . Michael neared the take-off lane, and halted before he steered onto it. After two minutes, the radio-tower gave them permission to take off over the intercom. James grabbed the microphone and switched the channel.


    ¡®Thank you, Tower.¡¯


    He put the microphone back with a smile.


    Michael chuckled. ''Cheeky bastard.''


    He steered the aircraft onto the take-off lane and built up speed. He reached take-off speed much within the time-limit. The tail of the plane tilted down, and off they went. Flight 509 was in the air.


    As soon as the plane reached the right altitude, James turned on the auto-pilot. The flight company had just bought the newest engines for its planes, so the flight would only take a small three hours.


    ¡®Imagine. 10 years ago, you would have taken a flight to New York, and you would have to sit in this plane for about six to eight hours,¡¯ said James.


    ¡®Yeah, the good old days, huh?¡¯ grinned Michael.


    The first two hours went by slowly. The two men kept checking the instruments and reporting their status to the radio tower. At one point, James was reading a magazine about cars and Michael was staring out of the window. Everything was silent. All there was to be heard was the faint noises of the cabin, as passengers were being served drinks. A sudden bleeping sound filled the cockpit, as if to confirm something. James looked up from his magazine and Michael threw his gaze from the endless cloud formations to the instruments. He looked at the screen on which the route of the autopilot was displayed. The plane was represented by a blue arrow, and there was a fluorescent light-blue line, which represented the route of the flight. Under the screen of the route, was a smaller display, showing a range of coordinates and the name of the destination. A second bleep sounded, and the coordinates of the destination were suddenly changed.


    James sat up straight in his chair and put down his car magazine. ''What the hell?''


    Below the coordinates, a notice appeared for a split second. It would have been unreadable if Michael didn''t already know what it meant: "Calculating a new destination..." A third bleep announced the new destination. The screen read: ¡°New destination: Washington DC.¡±


    A higher-sounding bleep sounded, and the light-blue route on the screen above changed. The straight line bent slightly to the left. The plane tilted slightly. It was just enough for the two men to notice it.


    Michael frowned. ''That¡¯s weird.''


    He pressed a few buttons to gain access to the auto-pilot''s settings, and then edited the coordinates, filling in the long streak of numbers which he read from the paper on the clipboard in his hand. The same process of bleeps and changes took place, and the light-blue route bent to the right this time. The plane tilted back to the right, calmly.


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    James grabbed the intercom microphone. ''This is flight 509 to New York radio tower, requesting an instrument check upon landing.''


    A woman on the other side replied. ''Sure thing, flight 509. A maintenance crew will be waiting for you at your gate.''


    ''Thank you. Flight 509, out.'' James put the microphone back on its spot.


    Then the coordinates changed again. "New destination: Washington DC.¡± The plane tilted to the left. Michael and James looked at each other for a while. ''This is getting rather creepy, don¡¯t you think?'', said James.


    Michael nodded in agreement. He then switched the coordinates back. The plane tilted back. Then, the coordinates changed again. Michael switched the coordinates back again to New York. The coordinates changed then back to Washington DC.


    Michael quickly switched them back again, but it was another failed attempt, and the coordinates returned to Washington DC. The plane was steered to the left.


    Michael sighed. ''Okay, if you want to play it like this¡­''


    Michael turned the auto-pilot off. The screen went on standby and the coordinates went blank. The eerie and tense atmosphere left the cockpit. All was calm again, the problem was solved. They¡¯ll have to steer the plane themselves for the last 45 minutes. Michael grabbed the steering wheel and tilted the plane back to its original route.


    ¡®What was that, man? Something is seriously wrong with that machine¡­¡¯ sighed James as he also took hold of his steering wheel and checked the instruments.


    ¡®We have to get that checked when we-¡¯


    The bleeping filled the cockpit, startling both men. The monitor switched on, the screen lit up, and the coordinates for Washington DC appeared on the display again, as well as the light-blue line, which bent to the left. Michael felt the steering wheel click into a lock. The plane shuddered and tilted back to the left with force. It was almost as if it was counter-attack to Michael¡¯s attempt to shut it down. Both men were startled again when the door behind them shifted open. It was Rachel.


    ¡®Is something wrong?¡¯ she asked worriedly as she lent on both men¡¯s chairs.


    ¡®Just some turbulence,¡¯ answered Michael swiftly, before James could say anything.


    As soon as Rachel disappeared through the door again, Michael returned to fight the auto-pilot. From the cabin, Rachel¡¯s voice was heard as she reassured the passengers through the intercom that it was just turbulence. In the meantime, James started to panic a little.


    ¡®Michael, what¡¯s going on?¡¯ he said with a stuttering and tiny voice.


    Michael had to think on his feet to calm James down a little. ¡®James, just report it to the radio tower.¡¯


    Whilst James grabbed the microphone, Michael turned the auto-pilot off once more. Again, a failed attempt, as the machine switched itself on again.


    ¡®This is flight 509 to radio tower. Please respond, radio tower.¡¯


    ¡®This is radio tower. Have you changed your route, 509?¡¯ asked a male voice, this time.


    ¡®Yes, that is what we are reporting, radio tower. Our auto-pilot is malfunctioning, and we cannot gain manual control of the aircraft.¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re not the only one.¡¯ The voice sounded further away, as if the man was addressing someone else. ¡®It¡¯s all of them.¡¯


    ¡®What do you mean, radio tower?¡¯ asked James nervously. ¡®Can you give us alternative options?¡¯


    The static silence of the intercom suddenly muted. The line had dropped.


    ¡®Hello? Hello!?¡¯ James looked at Michael. ¡®The communication is down. That¡¯s not possible.¡¯


    James desperately threw his gaze over the instruments.


    ¡®Michael, I don¡¯t think we have enough fuel to reach Washington.¡¯ Michael was overwhelmed with what was going on, but not on the verge of a breakdown just yet. He  reached out his hand, asking for the microphone. James handed it to him silently. Michael switched channel, waited a few seconds, swallowed a clump of saliva, and spoke into the microphone.


    ¡®Dear passengers¡­ Due to having to dodge an area of heavy turbulence, there will be a delay of about half an hour.¡¯


    James stared at Michael with teary eyes. ¡®Is that really the right way?¡¯


    Michael didn¡¯t know for sure anymore. ¡®For now.¡¯ They had actually already passed New York.


    Half an hour later, they were still in mid-air. The two men glared at the bright screen of the auto-pilot, and the screen glared back at them. James had watery eyes. They had tried to turn it off again a few times, but the last 20 minutes, they had spent in absolute silence, except for the low beep of the low-fuel alert, as the plane carried them across the states of America, without their own consent.


    Michael grabbed the cabin microphone. There had to be a way to make this as good as possible. ''Does every passenger have a cell-phone with him or her? Stewardesses, please check.''


    5 minutes later, Rachel came through the door. ''Every passenger has a cell-phone. Michael, what¡¯s wrong?''


    Michael looked at her. ''Do you have one?''


    Rachel looked confused. ''Yes, why?''


    Michael ignored the question. ''Do the other stewards and stewardesses have one?''


    ''I don''t know.''


    Michael gave her a little smile. ''Go to the others and check for me, please.''


    Rachel turned around and closed the door behind her. Michael looked at James, and then reached out with his hand behind him. He pressed the button which engaged the electrical lock on the door.


    ''Do you have a cell-phone?'' Michael asked. James nodded silently, and wiped his eyes. Michael picked up the microphone.


    ''Attention please.'' Michael¡¯s eyes started watering up. ''I want every passenger to turn on their cell-phone, and call their dearest family-member. Tell them that you love them. Ask them for forgiveness if there is something to be forgiven. Tell them that you¡¯ll never leave them. Do it now.''


    Michael took his own cell-phone from his pocket. He dialled his home number, hoping that when the phone rang, back where he was only 5 hours ago. The long, repetetive beep at least gave him the comfort of having a signal. Now, there just had to be an answer. Rachel tried opening the heavy steel door. The lock clicked. James was already chokingly talking to his parents. Someone picked up the phone on the other side.


    ''Hello?'' A tiny, high voice answered. Michael could hardly keep in his nerves when he realised it was his little girl.


    ''H-hello, sweetie. It''s daddy,'' Michael said with a cracked voice.


    ''Are you coming home, daddy?''


    The words echoed through Michael''s mind.


    ''Soon, sweetheart. Not yet. I''ll see you soon.''


    ''Okay, daddy. Oh, here''s mum! I love you!''


    Michael tried to say it back, but the phone was already being handed to his wife.


    ''Hey Michael. Thanks for your note, that was really sweet.''


    ''Yeah, well, I meant it, honey. I uh... I really, really love you.''


    ''Are you in New York yet?''


    The alarm for the empty fuel tank stopped. First, the auto-pilot switched off. Then the lights of all the displays. Then the lights in the plane. A silence fell. The engines were off.


    ''I love you. So unbelievably much...''


    The plane suddenly swooped down and to the left. Everything rattled. Michael hung up the phone as he felt the force of the fall, buckled into his seat. All he could still think about was his six-year-old little girl, sleeping in the arms of the love of his life, smiling with happiness and giving her mum his kiss.


    People screamed inside the cabin. The screams were only faint, because of the steel door.


    James covered his face with his hands, sobbing loudly.


    The plane hit the hard, unforgiving ground. All of it was ripped to pieces: machinery, walls, chairs, passengers, landing gear and cockpit. The kerosene ignited and the wreckage blew up in a wave of oblivion.

 03. Endless Rain

    Chapter 3


    Chausiku


    02-12-2021


    Chausiku sat on the firm and thick branch, balancing by wrapping her legs around it. She looked up at the clear night sky. The moon was the only thing she found staring back at her. The silhouettes of a few birds hovered by. It was a cool night. It had been warm all day, but now she could finally feel the cool breeze of the night air on her skin, especially because she was this high from the ground.


    Why was she even doing this? It was to protect her family, that¡¯s why. Her baby brother and her parents. They could fight the battle, so she had to. That was how she contributed to the tribe. By protecting all of those who could not protect themselves.


    Chausiku threw her gaze to Ranya, who sat in the tree next to her. Ranya signalled her to be silent. Chausiku held her gun tightly, barrel pointing down. Some 6 metres below them, scattered soldiers wandered around. The flashlights on the side of their helmets threw rays of bright light across the ground, creating large shadows which danced, every time they passed a large plant. They spoke inaudible words into the comms built into their helmets.


    Chausiku checked the silencer on the barrel of her assault rifle. She unclicked the metal cylinder and clicked it in again. She then adjusted her head-band, which kept her long hair out of her eyes. She looked at Ranya, who was already looking at her. She had a finger on her earpiece, receiving orders through it. She nodded and whispered a confirmation, after which her eyes went back to Chausiku, and nodded to her as well.


    Chausiku looked into the scope, into the direction of one of the soldiers below them, and then looked over the scope in the same direction. As far as she could see, the soldier, who walked through the high vegetation, was not in the sight of any of the others. A straggler from the group. She looked through the scope and aimed until the crosshairs aligned with the head of the man. She pulled her trigger. The cylinder silenced her shot as well as she had hoped, producing almost no sound, a splatter of blood shot through the air. The dark liquid glistened brightly in the moonlight, but then disappeared into the dark again. The soldier¡¯s corpse fell to the ground with a soft thud. There was no shout or warning, or anything else which would indicate that the death had been noticed. They had somewhat another minute before the others would wonder why he didn¡¯t say anything anymore. Chausiku moved backwards over the thick branch to grab her mask, which she had put at the centre of the tree. Suddenly, right below her, there was a voice.


    The words were in a language she didn¡¯t understand. She stopped moving on the branch and looked down. The man was right below her, at the foot of the tree. She tried reaching for her mask. The branch creaked, loudly. Chausiku threw her gaze at the man, who gasped and looked up at her. Chausiku was half-blinded by the bright flashlight.


    ¡®Hey!¡¯ The man¡¯s shrill but deep voice sounded in the silence of the night.


    There only followed a fast streak of faint tugs from a silencer, and the thump of the man¡¯s corpse falling against the tree. Ranya looked at Chausiku. Both women knew that the shout had been loud enough for the other soldiers to hear. In a split-second, Chausiku shoved herself the necessary extra half-metre up the branch and took a hold of her mask. As she did this, another shout sounded in the foreign language.


    Chausiku caught one last glimpse of Ranya¡¯s face, before the branch which Ranya was sitting on and the overhanging leafs and branches erupted into a cloud and blast of chipped wood and pieces of torn leafs. Bullets flew past Chausiku¡¯s ears, and some even hit the tree, only half a metre away from where she sat. She screamed and put on her mask as quickly as she could. It had a filter in the mouthpiece, and night vision in the eyes. She threw her rifle to the ground and then tilted herself sideways, holding on tightly to the branch. She let go with her legs, so she hung onto the branch only with her hands, which slipped off by themselves anyways. She dropped to the densely vegetated ground in an unprofessional way, and fell backwards as she landed.


    She got up and grabbed her rifle. The enemies were closing in to see if they had hit. Ranya¡¯s corpse, riddled with bullets, lay against the foot of the tree in which she had sat. A collection of bright rays of light swung from left to right and back again, as the enemies ran towards her. Chausiku took hold of the tags around Ranya¡¯s neck and ripped them off. She put the metal necklaces in her rear pocket and took a gas grenade from her belt. She pulled the pin from the canister and dropped the grenade by Ranya¡¯s feet. The enemy were now on the other side of the tree, no more than three metres away.


    Chausiku dropped to her knees and put her gun on the ground.


    ¡®I surrender! I surrender!¡¯ she shouted just as the men came around the corner.


    Their flashlights almost blinded her through her night-vision. One hand she held up, and with the other she covered her eyes. The men stood by Ranya¡¯s corpse and pointed their guns at her. The red lasers dotted her head and chest as they barked at her in their language.


    With a blast, the canister released the poisonous gas, right where they were standing. The fumes entered their eyes and airways, and started gnawing its way through their flesh. They screamed and coughed, dropping their guns and cringing down to the ground in pain. Chausiku felt the fierce irritation on her bare, dark skin and could not imagine what it would feel like if it were in her eyes or lungs. She grabbed her gun and stood up. The men were looking down at the ground, trying to exhale as much as possible, only making things worse as they started to cough up bits of blood. She aimed through the scope.


    ¡°Tsut. Tsut. Tsut. Tsut. Tsut. Tsut.¡±


    Six times she shot. One for each man¡¯s head. She did not want them to suffer the slow but inevitable death which the gas would have brought to them.


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    It had been a scouting party. Eight men in total. Chausiku unclicked the almost empty magazine and exchanged with a full one. She took the flare gun which Ranya had on her belt, and aimed it to the sky. She pulled the trigger. The red projectile shot up into the dark sky, letting all of those around know that the ambush was successful. Chausiku went to sit against the tree which she had sat in.


    Five minutes later, warriors from the tribe arrived at the scene of the ambush.


    ¡®Good evening, Chausiku,¡¯ said one of them. They all had masks on, same as her. The gas that she had thrown was a common weapon, and every warrior of the tribe had it.


    ¡®Where¡¯s Ranya?¡¯


    Chausiku simply pointed with a finger at the tree opposite of her, where Ranya¡¯s body lay.


    ¡®Ah¡­ I see. At least the ambush wasn¡¯t a complete failure. You did well tonight; I¡¯ll make sure the chiefs hear of your effort.¡¯


    Chausiku stood up from her position. The man took out a bar of chocolate from his pocket. ¡®You don¡¯t want to run out of energy as soon as your adrenaline wears off.¡¯


    She took the bar of chocolate and shoved it into her own pocket. ¡®Thanks.¡¯


    The other warriors scavenged the bodies of the soldiers. They took the helmets, guns, ammunition, food, and any other valuables.


    Chausiku and the warrior, named Kaiyan, talked for a bit. ¡®You retrieved Ranya¡¯s tags, I presume?¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, of course. She was a good warrior.¡¯


    ¡®You weren¡¯t very close, were you?¡¯


    ¡®We got along, but that¡¯s it. I don¡¯t like becoming close with anyone here. It¡¯ll only hurt more when I lose them.¡¯


    ¡®Or when they lose you. Don¡¯t become sceptic. Those bullets can hit anyone.¡¯


    ¡®If they¡¯d lose me, I¡¯d have no pain to suffer, now would I?¡¯


    Kaiyan looked at her and smiled. ¡®You¡¯re too smart for war, you know that?¡¯


    ¡®This isn¡¯t war. What is happening in the world; that is war. This is nothing but personal gain.¡¯


    Kaiyan¡¯s smile disappeared. ¡®This is a war, Chausiku. It may not be as big as the others, but it is. We are all abandoned here. Every time you look at the television, all you see is white people killing white people. Where are we on that screen? Where is our cause in the media? Just because we take no part, and get no recognition, does not mean that this is no war.¡¯


    ¡®We are in the darkness of their shadow, Kaiyan. We are nothing compared to them. They have weaponry, food, real houses, even cities. What are we fighting for here, really? We are fighting for that. We are fighting to scavenge their waste.¡¯


    Kaiyan looked perplexed at Chausiku. ¡®Do you really think it is still like that? Do you really think that their world looks so gorgeous, whilst we are the lower ones? There have been special bombings on all sides, Chau. Their crops have been devastated and devoured by chemicals. Their houses have been burnt and bombarded.¡¯


    ¡®And yet, they¡¯re still doing better than we are,¡¯ Chausiku said with a smirk.


    Kaiyan was silent for a second. ¡®You should save your energy. I don¡¯t want to drain it with an argument.¡¯


    Chausiku¡¯s smirk faded. ¡®I am sorry, Kai. I didn¡¯t mean to pull your hopes down. We¡¯ll fight the confederation, and we¡¯ll win. Then, we shall take what is ours, once and for all. Two warriors brought down eight of their men tonight. We have the upper-hand in strategy.¡¯


    ¡®And yet they have the upper-hand in numbers and weaponry.¡¯


    The group of warriors left the site of the ambush with their new scavenged gear. They walked back to the outpost, cutting a line as straight as possible through the jungle. The roots of the jungle trees went deep into the earth, and made the ground very uneven. Clouds had gathered above them with speed, and it started to rain as they progressed through the thick vegetation of the rainforest. Chausiku formed her hands to a cup, and collected the rainwater, until it was enough to take a sip. The insects which buzzed around the warriors quickly tried to find shelter from the rain, giving them a bit of a rest from the annoyance.


    Chausiku had her rifle slung on her back. She took a bite of the half-molten chocolate bar, which Kaiyan had given her. It was the sweetest thing she had tasted in quite a while. The chocolate had become more fudge-like, which actually only made it better in Chausiku¡¯s eyes.


    After hours of tripping, walking and stumbling in the darkness, the small group of seven warriors reached the orange road which led to the outpost. It went slightly uphill, and was one straight line for the most part, so Chausiku could usually see 2 kilometres down the road. However, the darkness of the night and the rain which glistened in the light of Kaiyan¡¯s newly acquired helmet, did not allow it. The group walked onwards with feet that were becoming sore, up the steady slope of the hill.


    Something suddenly caught Chausiku¡¯s attention. She heard something. The outpost was still a kilometre away. She stopped walking. Her heart skipped a beat as she turned around. The air left her lungs for a split-second, and all she felt was a hollow emptiness in her stomach. Far in the distance, down the road, was the bright twinkle of light.


    ¡®Everybody stop. Look.¡¯


    The others stopped walking and turned around. Chausiku swung the rifle back over her neck and held the weapon steadily against her shoulder as she looked into the scope. There were five sets of headlights.


    ¡®It isn¡¯t good. Five cars.¡¯


    In the darkness, on top of two of the cars she saw something else. It was a sight which widened her eyes and struck fear into her heart. She clenched her weapon tighter for a second. Glistening in the moonlight, she saw two heavy machine-guns with armour-plating around them, on the roofs of the second and fourth car. This wasn¡¯t a scouting party. This was a full-on assault. The confederation had found the outpost, and they were aiming to win the war tonight.

 04. Lines of History

    Chapter 4


    ¡°The largest catastrophe in the history of mankind. The death toll is rising as we speak. Airlines are being interrogated as the counted damage only increases. All emergency forces are being mobilised. In the U.S.A., the army is being mobilized to evacuate locals and sort out the situation, which looks horrible.¡±


    2014: The Russian Federation invades Ukraine and Crimea. Crimea falls under the Russian regime, and battle continues in eastern Ukraine. The EU does not take military action, and only engages in negotiation with Russian president Vladimir Putin.


    2015: Negotiations lead to a ceasefire in eastern Ukraine. In the Middle-East, the Islamic State (I.S.) grows from terrorist organisation to legitimate threat. In May, the ceasefire between Russian and Ukrainian forces is broken, and battle recommences.


    2016: A large rebel force overthrows the Nigerian government. They proceed to negotiate with West-African countries. In October, under threat of the rebel activity, Niger agrees upon a treaty, giving up its territory and rights to Nigeria. They become the West-African Confederation.


    In the Middle-East, the I.S. moves to Syria. They overthrow the government and the rebels, trained by American forces, join up with them.


    Ukraine surrenders to the Russian forces. Under threat of the new power from the east, the EU becomes the United Nations of Europe (UNE). The UN disbands.


    2017: The U.S.A. starts an invasion upon South America. Their forces invade Mexico, breaking any and all treaties with the Mexican government.


    The West-African Confederation grows as Chad gives up its territory and resources willingly. A giant oil well is found in former Niger, only making the Confederation''s wealth larger. The new goverment is not corrupt, and farming is greatly innovated within the Confederation. The Confederation seeks territory from Cameroon. After careful negotiation, Cameroon becomes a military ally of the Confederation.


    The whole world rejoices when the I.S. is officially eliminated by forces of the US and UNE. The Middle-East starts to look calm once more, and the different countries start faring well and repairing any damages done to them.


    The Russian Federation and the Republic of China create an alliance: The Socialist Russian-Chinese Federation (SRCF). The UNE expands its borders in the north, as Scandinavia joins them. The two sides look upon Eastern Europe with tense and paranoid minds, as a second Cold War commences.


    The Confederation seeks territory from Cameroon. After careful negotiation, Cameroon becomes a military ally of the Confederation.


    2018: The Russian Federation is satisfied with their conquest upon Ukraine. They make no further attempt to head west, as Eastern European countries eagerly join the UNE, as soon as they reach the requirements.


    The Mexican National Army surrenders to the US. Mexico becomes an official state of the country. No nuclear weapons were used in the war, as more and more activist groups protest against the use of nuclear weaponry. The USA and Canada make the North American Alliance (NAA).


    The WAC resumes negotiations with neighbouring countries. Algeria and Libya see the Confederation as a threat in the south. The Algero-Libyan Alliance (ALA) is created. The Confederation does not see kindly to this sudden pact between the two countries.


    Tension rises all over the world. The UNE and SRCF look eagerly at Eastern Europe. The NAA and major South American countries look at each other in despise after the conquest of Mexico. The WAC moves troops to its western and northern borders.


    Each party, alliance and confederation is a major factor upon international politics. Each of them is paranoid towards each other. On the 18th of May, worldwide disaster strikes. 348 planes crash all across the world. The media explode. Reports are being gathered, companies are being blamed, and this is no little incident which dies off. Apparently, the auto-pilots of all planes targeted the capitals of the designated countries. The death toll is astonishing. From passengers alone, the count is over 35000. The plane-crashes also inflict terrible damage upon the crash-sites. Some of the planes reach the capitals. Moscow, Washington DC, London, Paris, and many other capital cities of major countries, all are victim of the worldwide assault.


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    There has to be someone to blame, and the tension breaks. Countries, federations, confederations, alliances and nations, all blame each other. Politicians are outraged, and in this time of chaos, there is space for rash action.


    Rash action is what tears the world apart. It all starts on the morning of the 24th of November. It¡¯s the usual weekday in London, England; the capital of the UNE. People get onto the morning bus. People heading to work, to earn money for their loved ones, to sustain their lives in the better side of society. The sky is grey and cloudy, but it is not raining. It¡¯s a little colder as usual, as winter comes right around the corner at the end of this year¡¯s November.


    There is a loud bang. The city shudders. Everybody looks up anxiously or excitedly, as the blast came from the sky. There is nothing to be seen. There is no explosion. No shock of a blast. Awkwardly, people resume to what they were doing. All of the inhabitants of London tweet about it on Twitter, and post it to their timelines on Facebook. The young, blooming population of London. Above them, the clouds turn purple. The internet and media are booming about this event.


    ¡°What has happened to our sky?¡±


    ¡°Fabulous London is fabulous.¡±


    Some media take the matter more serious than others. Social media is booming with jokes, posts and reports. In the end, it does not matter. The interpretation of the action is of no consequence to its results. The bomb has done its work. It¡¯s delivering a result as the people continue with their lives. Three days after the strange event, the first Londoner is infected. Then 2 infected, 5 infected, 13 infected, 28 infected, 64 infected, 221 infected. The number steepens, as the virus descends upon the thick smog of the city. Nothing but an inhalation is needed, and the pathogen has entered the body, destroying white blood cells and antibodies with ease, mutilating flesh and shutting down the nervous system within the span of a month.


    London dies off. The city is emptied and evacuated. Every crossing of the Thames is blocked off. The government of the UNE moves to Paris, and crowns the city as their new capital. There is no doubt in the matter; the missile had come from the SRCF.


    2019: All-out war across the globe. The UNE and SCRF mobilise their troops against each other. Battles are fought throughout Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean.


    Riots break out in Mexico, as still many of the original inhabitants owe their allegiance to the old government. The NAA shows no mercy to the rioters. None of it is broadcasted on the NAA¡¯s television, or on any other television broadcast channel for that matter. If it were, the media would boom and the NAA would be blamed for manslaughter and mass genocide.


    The WAC¡¯s troops are attacked by Algerian forces on the northern border between the two countries. No Libyan forces are involved in the conflicts.


    London has been emptied. The city decays in the absence of maintenance. All communications with the city drop. There is no-one left.


    2020: The order in Mexico is restored. Brazil and the NAA negotiate a pact, and later, Argentina joins in with the negotiations.


    Forces of the SCRF push back the forces from the UNE in Estonia and Latvia. Lithuania remains barely under control of the UNE. Poland and Finland are bracing for assaults from the SCRF.


    The WAC and Algerian forces are still waging war over the territory in between the two countries. Benin and Togo join the WAC. Ghana refuses to join and the WAC takes immediate action, mobilizing the troops on the Western borders into Ghana.

 05. Silence in London

    Chapter 5


    Nick


    14-12-2019


    Nick sat on the hood of the abandoned car. The 33-year-old man stared numbly across the barren and empty street. It was something around noon. The thin layer of ice on the asphalt glistened in the sunlight.


    ¡®Global warming my ass¡­¡¯ Nick whispered to himself, as he inhaled the smoke of his cigarette. The nicotine gave him a little kick as the tobacco entered his lungs.


    ¡®You hear me, Nick?¡¯


    Nick¡¯s radio cracked. He took it off his belt.


    ¡®Hey, Rory. What¡¯s up?¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re on Oxford Street, right?¡¯


    ¡®Uhhh, yeah, why?¡¯


    ¡®Get underground, fast. You¡¯re close to Oxford Circus.¡¯


    ¡®Why, what¡¯s going on?¡¯


    ¡®Move. Quickly. Contact me when you get there.¡¯


    Nick shrugged. Rory had always been a bit weird, but he knew that when Rory was serious, the situation was serious. He got up from the hood of the car and wiped the cold humidity off his arse. He picked up his tactical crossbow from the ground with his left hand as he took a deep inhalation from his cigarette, before dropping the perfectly rolled tobacco to the frosty ground. Nick had gotten his crossbow as a 25th birthday present. He slung the weapon over his shoulder as he made his way down the wide street. He had a pouch with bolts on his belt.


    He still remembered Oxford Street like it had been, only five years ago. A busy and buzzy street, with thousands of people on the sidewalks and cars and buses racing by on the asphalt. Now, it was empty. It was barren. Only the odd abandoned, rusty and broken car dotted the long and wide street. The grey asphalt had been broken up by the frosts of the winters before this one. In less than 2 weeks, it¡¯d be Christmas.


    Nick was dressed in thick layers of clothing, army pants and army boots. He had tight black leather gloves to warm his hands. He put his earplugs into his ears and turned on the music on his iPod. A few years ago, he would have been classified as a metal-head, due to his taste in music, long black hair, and clothing style. Now, he was classified as a survivor. Nothing more than that, and nothing less. The city was eerily quiet, especially in comparison to Nick¡¯s memories. But then again, faded gunshots and screams did not top Nick¡¯s music, even though he had it on soft. He was one of the few people who were able to listen to heavy metal while it was on soft. Most had to put it on louder, to ¡°feel¡± the music.


    Nick strolled calmly over Oxford Street. Even though Rory had had a serious tone to his voice, Nick knew that he was a man who exaggerated. He saw nothing interesting or peculiar on his way to the tube-station. He stared at the ¡°Underground¡± board for a few seconds. Nick used to take the tube every day to his work. He¡¯d pass this stop every morning and evening, as he took the Victoria line.


    He took a hold of the cold metal railing of the stairs and descended into the station. The air became thick and colder, and a stench of death filled Nick¡¯s nostrils. The disease was almost like the pest. As soon as the virus had descended from the sky and inserted itself into the populace, the transmission via air had started to become less and less effective. However, it was always best to burn the dead, as the pathogen lived off the dead cells of the corpses. Every corpse was, in that way, a transmitter of the virus.


    However, this smell was the right one: the smell of burnt corpses, and not rotting ones.  Nick walked down the icy steps. He held on tightly to the railing, in case he¡¯d slip. He stopped on the steps, turned off his music and took the earplugs from his ears. He put the device and the plugs back into his pocket. Nick flicked the torch on his crossbow on. The ray of light drove away the thick darkness of underground. He proceeded further down the steps. When he reached the end of the stairs and the start of the large main hall, he unclicked his radio from his belt and spoke into it. He had expected the static of the line to have become a little louder due to the weakened connection, but it was quite the opposite. The static had become a little softer.


    ¡®Rory, you there?¡¯


    After a few seconds, there was an answer. ¡®Yeah mate, you¡¯re underground at Ox Circus?¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, I¡¯m there alright, but for a reason I don¡¯t know. Listen, I want to know what¡¯s going on¡­¡¯


    ¡®I saw a large group of heat signatures coming onto Oxford Street at Bond Street station. They¡¯re making their way in your direction.¡¯


    ¡®What does it look like? Bandits? Looters?¡¯


    ¡®They¡¯re spread out over the width of the street and some of them enter stores for a few minutes. I¡¯d say looters.¡¯


    ¡®Looters are usually not well-armed, are they?¡¯


    ¡®No, they aren¡¯t, but they are with many. I advise you not to take the risk on this one.¡¯


    ¡®And do what? Sit here in the stinking darkness?¡¯ I¡¯d much rather take the fresh air, thank you.¡¯


    ¡®Nick, don¡¯t be such a fucki-¡¯


    Nick switched off his radio and turned around. All this walking for nothing. A pathetic waste of time and half a cigarette. Nick met Rory on the radio. He had never seen the man, and had no idea where he was. He just knew that Rory was his eyes in the city. This time, Rory had fucked up a little. They still had a few arguments on what Nick was capable of and what not, and this was definitely a thing he could handle. As he walked back up the stairs, he flicked the torch off again. When he put his foot on one of the steps, his boot slipped across the ice. Nick grabbed the railing as fast as he could. He found a grip again and let out a little sigh of relief. ¡®Fuck me¡­¡¯


    He was glad to be out in the fresh air again. He had almost no phobias, and claustrophobia wasn¡¯t a problem either, but the thick air and eerie darkness and silence of an empty tube-station was not a comfortable setting to find yourself in, nonetheless. The radio beeped, alerting Nick that Rory was speaking whilst the radio was off. He ignored it. Nick scanned the edges of the roofs of the high buildings which lined the street. He walked into the direction of Bond Street. There was a London bus on the side of the street. It has lost most of its colour, and the red had faded from the grey metal frame. Its windows were smashed to pieces and the door was wrenched open. A vantage point with cover, in Nick¡¯s eyes. He went inside the bus. The inside was frozen no less than the outside, as there was practically nothing to stop the frost from entering.


    The sidewalks were covered in rubbish bags and all sorts of scraps and waste. No-one would come to pick it up, but in the early stages of the outbreak, people would still need to dispose of their rubbish, so they just dumped it by their front doors. Nick looked over the street. He looked down at his crossbow. He started loading the weapon. He clicked the string of the bow tightly onto the tooth of the trigger. He took a bolt from his pouch. A distant shout echoed through the street. About 75 metres away, four men appeared from in between a few abandoned cars. They walked into the direction of Nick¡¯s position. He slid the bolt into the shaft.  70 metres now. Nick was waiting for them to come into range.  65. 60. Slowly but surely, they came into the range of his line of fire. 55. Almost there now.


    Three of the men suddenly took a turn and entered the stores. The fourth man stood still. It had become a little cloudy in the last 20 minutes, and it was just that bit too dark for Nick to see the man¡¯s full appearance from this distance.


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    ¡®You¡¯ve got to be fucking kidding me¡­¡¯


    The man was just out of range of Nick¡¯s line of fire. If they hadn¡¯t gone into the stores, he would have already finished them off by now. Nick did another quick scan of the roofs. Still nothing. The soft beeping sound alerted Nick again. He ignored it. Rory should stop complaining. Nick knew what he was doing. The man in the distance had some kind of stick in his hand. Probably a baseball bat or crowbar. The man looked around him. He stood on a little crossing. There were two narrow streets, and the man looked into both of them, before looking back into Nick¡¯s direction. Nick sat there in the cover of the window frame.


    Suddenly, a range of shouts sounded. Nick looked towards the entrance of one of the stores. Two of the men came out of the store with a woman, whom they held tightly. She screamed fiercely and punched one of the men in his face. The other man delivered a blow to her stomach. She groaned as the two men regained control and pulled her further towards the looter in the middle of the street. The third man came from the other store with nothing but his weapon, as far as Nick could see. They brought the woman down to her knees in front of the fourth man, whom Nick had been watching. He must be the leader of the group. The men were talking to each other with loud voices as a heated argument began over what to do with their captive.


    The leader spoke, and all men nodded and mumbled in agreement. The woman cried as she was knelt on the floor. Nick rested the crossbow on the metal frame and aimed down the 1.4x scope, even though they were still out of range. The two men hauled the woman up on her feet and pushed her away from them, into Nick¡¯s direction. The woman confusedly turned around to the four men. Two almost simultaneous cracks of gunfire sounded.


    Nick gasped and looked from his scope. ¡®Fuck!¡¯ he whispered furiously to himself.


    A red spray of blood erupted from the woman¡¯s head and a chunk of flesh was ripped from her throat. Her body fell onto the frozen asphalt. These weren¡¯t looters. They were bandits¡­ Much bigger problem. One of the bandits walked over to the body, which started to leak blood over the ice. The man made his step as he went to stand over her body. Nick mercilessly pulled his trigger. The crossbow jolted, and the bolt was released with force. Due to the high buildings, there was no wind to alter the course of the bolt, and it hit its target perfectly. The metal spike penetrated the bandit¡¯s ribcage. He dropped his gun and fell to his knees, before toppling onto the woman¡¯s body. The two men grabbed their radios from their belts and ran away, into one of the narrow streets. The leader of the group stood still. He pointed his weapon towards the two bodies. A spray of liquid came from the weapon. A split-second later, the liquid erupted into bright flames.


    The man spewed fire from his flamethrower, across the width of the street. In the light of the flames, Nick saw the man¡¯s appearance through his scope. He was packed in thick fire-resistant clothing. His face was covered with a big, intimidating gas-mask. On his back, he carried two tanks of what was probably kerosene.  The man was too far away for Nick to shoot him, and it seemed like he knew. He stood in a provoking pose. Nick was about to get up and leave, when he heard the roar of an engine.


    A garbage truck pulled up behind the leader of the bandits. Two men hung on its side, and dropped themselves to the ground when it stopped. They had masks or filters on as well. More men came from behind the truck and out of the back as well. Another man with a flamethrower came in sight. There were two men with flamethrowers, six men with guns, and maybe one or two drivers of the truck. Nick had stopped breathing. The fire on the street started to die off as the kerosene went up in flames. Maybe 5 seconds before they could run across. Nick switched on his radio and got up from his position. He sprinted down the aisle of the bus.


    ¡®Nick! Get out of there!¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, no shit!¡¯


    ¡®I fucking told you, imbecile! Oxford Circus! Now!¡¯


    Nick jumped onto the street and ran towards the entrance of the underground. Behind him, he heard the shouts of the men as they started to run after him. He almost slipped again as he went down the steps. He jumped into the darkness and landed safely on the tiles of the station floor. He switched on the torch as the thick air started to surround him again.


    ¡®Oh, fuck, oh fuuuuck¡­¡¯


    ¡®Go to the North Bakerloo line, quickly!¡¯ said Rory through the radio.


    Nick reloaded his crossbow whilst he jogged towards the platform for North Bakerloo. He ran through a gate which had been broken open. Behind him, loud voices echoed through the empty station.


    ¡®This way! Check the platforms! Kill the fucker!¡¯


    Footsteps sounded behind Nick. Flashes of light from behind sometimes came into his vision.


    ¡®I think I see him! Get after him!¡¯


    Nick panted loudly as he reached the platform for Bakerloo North.


    ¡®Now what, Rory!?¡¯


    ¡®Five seconds!¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t fucking have five seconds!¡¯


    A large ray of light came from the tunnel. The roaring of a train sounded.


    ¡®What the fuck?¡¯


    One of the bandits came onto the platform. Nick stood around the corner. As he turned to Nick, Nick released a bolt, which landed in his throat. A second bandit came onto the platform. As he too turned to Nick, Nick hit him on the jaw with the metal crossbow. He heard the bone crack and the man let out a distorted scream of pain. He fired three rounds as he accidentally pulled his trigger. The bullets were received by the concrete wall on the other side of the tube. The incredibly loud gunfire echoed through the station. Nick gave the man a powerful kick in his back, which threw him off his feet. The bandit tumbled off the platform and onto the rails. He let out a scream, which was cut off when he was sucked under the metal wheels of the large and heavy train, which came rolling into the station. Nick grabbed the gun of the man whom he had shot, and also jerked the bolt from his windpipe.


    The doors of the train opened and Nick jumped in. With the gun in one hand and the crossbow in the other, Nick loosely fired a few rounds at the staircase which led to the platform. He hit one of the bandits who were coming down them in his legs. As the bones in his legs were crushed by the projectiles, the man screamed and tumbled down the stone steps. The other bandits shouted for him to lie still, but did not come down to get him. The recorded female voice gave the warning that the doors were closing. Nick fired another few rounds to supress his enemies, and the glass doors slid shut. Nick dropped his gun and lay down in the middle of the floor of the train. As the train came into motion, gunfire blasted and the glass windows were shattered. Nick covered his head. Then everything went back to silence. All there was to be heard was the rumbling of the train¡¯s engine.


    ¡®Nick? You okay?¡¯


    Nick grinned as he sat up. He wiped the tears of fear from his eyes.


    ¡®Rory, you fucking hero¡­¡¯

 06. Ships

    Chapter 6


    John


    06-11-2022


    3 days after Chapter 1


    John woke up, slowly. His eyes ached horribly as he tried to open them. He slowly came back to senses, and started to feel the strain on his biceps and triceps. A bucket of freezing cold water was splashed over his head.


    ''Oh, fuck!''


    A wet layer of water remained on his skin. He was shirtless. He only saw silhouettes and shapes, because a bright light shined in his face. He kept his eyes aimed downwards, to make sure he wasn''t blinded. A fan was switched. The cold wind caught onto John''s wet skin. The man shivered all over. His arms were chained to two hooks and were held up high, stretching his muscles. John tried to remember what happened. It started to come back to him. The explosions and the flash of light. The gigantic airships which descended. Where was he now? Was he on one of those? Was this the SRCF, or was it something else? That last question was answered when a man behind John spoke with a strong Russian accent.


    ''You must be hungry. You haven''t eaten in 17 hours.''


    John did not answer. The first rule of something like this is to never speak. That is what he kept in mind. He was bloody hungry though, and his entire upper body hurt, inside and outside.


    ''John Farsworth. No family. Went to boarding school. Left home at 17. Tell me, is there anyone who would miss you if you die here?''


    What the fuck? They knew so much about him. Sure, he had had his ID in his pocket when it all happened, but to know that from someone only by looking up their name was insane. There was more behind this. The Russian man came to John''s front. He squatted down to John''s level. His body blocked the bright light, and John looked up. The man was surprisingly young for his deep voice. Only in his twenties. He had a smooth spotless face, short blond hair and blue eyes, which glared into his.


    ''Is there anyone at all? A reason for me not to cut your throat?''


    John looked the man in his bright, gleaming blue eyes. After more than ten seconds of staring at each other in complete silence, a slight smile appeared on the man''s face.


    ''You''re good, John. You''re smart. I think there is an understanding between us. I think we both understand, that the only reason you are still alive, is because of your silence. You know, I have actually not heard your voice yet. I am curious as to what it sounds like.''


    The Russian came back up from his squat and patted John painfully hard on his bare shoulder.


    ''If I don''t find out what your voice sounds like by talking to you, there''s plenty of other ways.''


    John''s strength faded. He woke up at the buzzing and crackling of electricity. As he opened his eyes and tried to move a little, a jolt of the tool of torture burned through his back. He groaned in pain and all of his muscles tightened. The metal chains clinked softly.


    ''What was that? Want to say something?''


    John kept his mouth shut in the next few seconds. There was no response from the man either. John did not know when to expect anything, and another jolt fried through the skin between his shoulders.


    He breathed heavily as the tears sprung into his eyes. Another jolt followed in his neck, and another in his lower back. He couldn''t help but let out a soft groan of pain as the tears streamed down his face. The stench of smouldering skin and flesh filled his nostrils.


    ''No? No submission? Not even a scream? I will hear your voice today, or else...''


    ''Do you have a fucking obsession with voices, asshole?'' answered John.


    There was silence behind John. No response. Footsteps, from his behind to his side. The legs of the Russian then came into sight. He went to stand in front of John.


    ''What... did you... call me?'' The man''s voice had become higher and shrill. John found a hint of hysteria in the tone of his voice. This guy certainly wasn''t okay in his head.


    John did not say anything. He had gone too far already. In the next few seconds, the Russian let John know that insulting a torturer was no wise thing to do. He kneed the defenceless man in the face and struck his throat with a powerful punch. As John gagged and struggled for breath, the swish and buzz of the electric door sliding open sounded.


    A superior voice echoed through the compact metal chamber. Russian language. John had no idea what was being said, but the man in front of John stood at attention. The man behind John stopped talking. The man in front of him simply nodded and saluted. Suddenly, from John''s right side, a needle jabbed into his neck. He grunted. A few seconds later, as John''s eyes became heavier, his muscles weaker, and his breath longer, he felt his arms falling down. The drug, combined with the immense relief of the biceps and triceps being under pressure no longer, tranquilised John to unconsciousness.


    John was being dragged through a hallway as he opened his eyes. He felt that a part of his strength had returned to him, since he last woke up. His mind raced. Where the fuck were they taking him? And why? The thoughts and questions were endlessly surging through John''s mind, as his legs slid across the smooth floor. His shoes sometimes squeaked as they slid. The dragging stopped. What if they thought that he was still asleep? That spark of hope was lost when the man who had beaten and electrocuted him spoke.


    ''We had to make room for another prisoner in your suite. We''re just gonna check you out.''


    The electrical buzz of a door sounded, and the dimly lit hallway was filled with bright sunlight. Freezing cold air surged into the hallway, and John shivered from the cold. The two Russian men dragged him outside, onto rough grey asphalt.


    ''You know what, I think you''re fit enough to walk.''


    John felt his arms being let go of, and he dropped with his arse onto the asphalt. The two men stood by him as he turned over and supported himself on his hands. The asphalt bit into them. There was a fierce wind, which rustled wildly through the thin clothing John had been given.


    He stood up on his feet, and felt the muscles of his legs getting back into action. He had to get used to walking again, and his legs were stiff. His knees hurt as well. It was freezing cold. John looked around. They were at the edge of a large asphalt platform. The steel wall of the hallway was behind John, and in front of him, the asphalt stretched very far under a clear blue sky. Fighter jets were lined next to each other in parking spots marked by yellow lines on the platform. The yellow lines led to a long white line which stretched over the length of the platform.


    That''s what this was. An aircraft carrier. It was insanely cold, incredibly windy, and the sky was blue. They were in the air. He was on one of the ships. He had to be. Only then did he realise what the man had said. "We''re checking you out."


    ''Move,'' said the Russian with an unforgiving tone. It was almost as if he knew that John had just realised what they were doing outside.


    John looked at the two men. The torturer was just as tall as him. The other man was taller, broader, had a thick black beard and short black hair, and a rough face. Both men were wearing thick jackets and pants, whereas John only had his thin clothing, which had the fabric of pyjamas. Both men had a handgun on their belt.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The blond man who had tortured him looked into his eyes.


    ''I said; move.''


    John turned around and started walking. Every few steps, he received a slight shove in his back, either because he was going to slow or purely as a reminder that there were two people with guns behind him. They were heading to the edge of the deck. John just knew it was so. Every step forward on the asphalt felt like another bit of John''s life ruined. His past had been for nothing. He had no family. Probably no friends alive. No legacy. They reached the edge. There was a metal ledge, a bit higher than the asphalt, only some 20 centimetres, like a small step. The ledge was just about a foot wide. John breathed heavily and fast. It was the result of both fear and lack of oxygen in the air.


    He turned around at the men. A man was walking towards them. He had come from the door of the hallway, just as they had. He had goggles on and thick clothing, but a little different-looking.


    ''Get onto the ledge, now.'' said the blond man angrily, taking his handgun from his belt.


    John turned towards the sky. The sun stood high in the sky. He looked down. An endless sea of clouds stretched as far as the eye could see, maybe 200 metres below the ship. As John looked down, he did not see the endless stretch of thin air, and the layer of clouds which blocked the view of the cold ground far below. He saw only the end. An abyss, waiting for him. Death, luring him to the utmost edge, only to tumble over, seducing him with fine promises.


    John heard the cocking of the handgun. The metallic sound of the bullet sliding into place in the chamber. The crack of gunfire sounded, echoing across the winds. It was quickly followed by a second. John felt his knees weaken. He had not felt anything. Was this it? Was he shot? Maybe he had gone numb. He carefully turned around on the edge. The man who had come walking towards them was running towards him, and only three metres away. The two Russians were on the ground, bleeding onto the asphalt. John, shocked by the sudden change of events and the man sprinting towards him, stumbled backwards. He stepped into the nothingness of air. The man launched himself at John and grabbed him tightly around his waist before he fell off. The two men soared down. John felt a belt tightening around his back. The man must have clipped it around his back when he reached behind his waist.


    John let out a long, hollow scream as the fell through the cloud layer. His very breath was taken away by the speed of the drop, and his pyjama-like clothes were now soaked, making it even colder for him then it already was. The man simply silently looked at John. His goggles blocked all vision coming inside, but John just knew that he was. He had a huge grin on his face. He gave the cord a tug, and a second later, the two men were hauled upwards. John held on tightly to the man, who steered the parachute sharply to the left and then a little to the right.


    Around two minutes later, without John really knowing when he had to expect it, they landed. The man tried to make it a clean landing, but John''s shock at the feeling of ground and bit of a spasm of adrenaline knocked the two men off balance. They tumbled and rolled over the ground. John lay on his back in grass. The man unclipped the strap and stood up. John saw red smoke in the air. An indicator of where to drop. He felt two strong arms grab his shoulders. He was hauled up onto his feet by a man who had a friendly smile on his face.


    The man who had rescued him spoke for the first time. John realised he hadn''t heard what he sounded like yet. ''Warm him up and give him food.'' The voice had a weak Scottish accent to it. Despite the accent, it was still clear to John what he had said. A man came from behind and supported John by putting John''s arm over his shoulder. John''s legs felt rather weak, so it was a good thing that he was being helped. They were in the clearing of a forest. It was only now that John realised that he had no idea where he was.


    ''Come on, bud. Take it nice and easy,'' said the man with a French accent.


    The forces of the UNE were very diverse in language and cultures, but all soldiers had learned to speak fluent English, and that was the main language. They went towards a group of large green tents. John was brought inside one of the tents, and put down on a comfortable chair. The man left the tent without saying another word.


    John sat in the tent, staring outside through the half-open flaps. Soldiers were walking around. Had this been a rescue mission? The flaps widened. A German Shepard entered. The large dog growled, showing off its fangs. John held his breath in fright. The dog glared at him.


    ''Hold it, Shadow! He''s a friend.'' A known voice sounded from outside the tent.


    John stood up from the chair as the dog calmed down and stopped growling. Mike entered the room. John was suddenly overwhelmed with happiness as he felt Mike''s warm body around his, and they embraced each other tightly for a few seconds.


    ''Mike! My god! Are the others here as well?''


    Mike gestured for John to go sit on the chair again.


    ''What''s up with the dog, by the way?'' asked John.


    ''Ah yeah, Shadow was the dog of a sniper whom was killed in action two days ago. Poor thing cried at the man''s grave for two days. I just had to take him, you know? So yeah, I decided to take care of him.''


    ''Alright. Pretty cool,'' said John with a grin.


    ''Yeah... listen, John. I don''t know how well you knew Robert, but you two seemed like great friends. He wasn''t found on the ship, and neither was Mason.''


    A woman came in with a plate of food. She smiled and nodded silently at John as she placed it on the small plastic table, together with some cutlery. John simply looked at the food. He had lost all appetite.


    ''But hey, listen. It''s only one ship. We saw around four ships in the Alps, remember?'' said Mike.


    ''There weren''t any bodies at the Pass either?'' asked John.


    ''We don''t know. The Alps have been occupied by SRCF forces. It''s all been completely overrun and blocked off.''


    ''Where are we now?''


    ''This is Austria, my friend. They''ve been tracking down Russian carriers like the one you were on for a few days now. There is another coming this way.''


    ''So Robert and Mason could be on that one?''


    ''Yeah, they could. But the forces here have no reason to infiltrate that ship. We''ll have to see what we can do. Believe it or not, this wasn''t really supposed to be a rescue mission for you either. Gathering Intel was the main objective.''


    ''Well, great... When and how did you get here though?''


    Mike grinned a little. ''I escaped the ship you were on, two days ago, myself. As soon as I was on the ground, I called the forces. That''s how I got here as well. This was the most nearby little outpost.


    Mike brushed through Shadow''s fur. The dog looked at him thankfully.


    ''John... We will find Rob and Mason. Definitely.''

 07. Rain, Sweat and Blood

    Chapter 7


    Chausiku


    03-12-2021


    Three minutes after Chapter 3


    Chausiku felt the cold mud of the ditch at the side of the road under her knees. She had been awake for 22 hours now. It wasn''t anything she wasn''t used to, but she had had a long and active night, and she was starting to feel tired.


    The rain was no positive boost for the morale of the group either. The heavy drops of water clattered on Chausiku''s head. The rumbling of the engines was becoming louder and louder. Chausiku held up her gun and looked through the scope. Her crosshairs hovered over the windshield of one of the cars. She could not see the driver. What if the glass was bulletproof? There was no choice. She had to let the cars go past her, otherwise the convoy would be alerted.


    The rest of the group were positioned 100 metres up the road, prepared to ambush the convoy with gunfire and gas. The first car passed her. The second car, with the machine gun placed on top, armed by a soldier, covered by steel plates from the front, passed her as well. The third followed. The fourth, with the second machine gun, passed her as well. The dirt of the road splattered up from under tires every time. Chausiku covered her face with one hand to protect her eyes and mouth, whilst holding her gun with the other. The fifth and final car passed. The agreement was that the group of warriors, led by Kaiyan, would not let the cars pass in any case whatsoever.


    Chausiku was not surprised to hear blasts and cracks of gunfire a few seconds later. She did not hesitate. She climbed out of the ditch and onto the road. She looked swiftly through her scope and prioritised her targets; machine-gunners first. In the flashes of the gunfire, she saw the silhouette of one of the men behind the machine guns. He opened fire, and the bullets ravaged the bushes in which the warriors were hiding. Chausiku did not waste any more time. She pulled the trigger, and the thud of the silencer sounded softly in the hail of distant gunfire. Chausiku saw only the silhouette of a liquid splattering from the man''s head, and his body disappearing into the darkness. The machine-gun fire stopped.


    There was still another car with a machine-gun, but she couldn''t see that one in the chaos. The other men got out of their cars and started to fire at the bushes and shrubs. The warriors were attacking from both sides, and threw canisters of the gnawing gas at the men. Screams filled the air and the gunfire started to die off. Chausiku aimed at one of the men, who had started to run in her direction, out of the gas cloud. She shot. The projectile crushed the man''s pelvis. He screamed loudly. Some repeated automatic gunfire followed. The warriors were starting to kill off the remainder of the convoy. Was that the end of the assault? Had they stopped it in its tracks?


    Chausiku ran up to the man she had shot.  He lay on his back, breathing heavily, holding one hand on gaping wound in his hip. His gun lay out of his reach.


    ''Are there any more of you coming this way?'' she asked him, holding the barrel of the gun against his face.


    The man rambled a bit in a foreign language. Chausiku sighed. He would be no use to her. She looked away and pulled her trigger. The unnecessary sound of crushing bone and splattering brain tissue filled her ears and punished her for her merciless judgement. Kaiyan came running towards her. Chausiku was happy to see that he was still alive. Not many warriors had survived the ambush. He, however, had a much different expression on his face.


    ''The second car! It''s gone further! We could not stop it!'' he shouted, a little out of breath.


    Chausiku looked around. Four cars. Only one with a machine-gun.


    ''Do you know how to drive?'' she asked Kaiyan.


    The man nodded.


    A minute later, they were racing over the road. They had left two warriors behind to load three wounded men into another car and bring it to the outpost. Kaiyan drove the car, whilst Chausiku sat in the open rear part. They were taking the turn left up the hill. It was close now. Sounds of gunfire started to fade into hearing range. Chausiku grabbed the handle of the car and stood up on the rear. She left her gun on the floor. She took a hold of the mounted machine-gun. There was still more than half a magazine in the gun, as far as she could tell. They arrived at the gate of the outpost. It was broken through. The car rushed over the broken barrier and drifted through the wet mud of the road. Chausiku looked left and right. Everywhere there were bullet holes in the walls of the small concrete houses and shacks, bodies at the sides of the streets, people running for cover and animals running loose.


    The obnoxious sound of distant repetitive automatic gunfire became louder and louder. Suddenly, the car came racing from one of the corners, turning away from Chausiku and Kaiyan''s car. Chausiku did not give them a chance to escape. She aligned the barrel of the large gun to her target, pulled the trigger and held it firmly. The machine-gun rattled with a huge amount of recoil. The soldier who manned the machine-gun was the first victim. The bullets riddled into his back without mercy. He collapsed and fell off the rear and onto the ground as the vehicle still sped forwards, over the road. Kaiyan did not dodge out and drove straight over the man''s body. The car was lifted up on one side for a second and shook violently as it fell back on all four wheels.


    Chausiku did not waste any time and opened fire on the rear of the car. As the gun consumed the chain of bullets fast and spat out the empty shells, Kaiyan tried to keep the car as steady as possible to help her aim. The bullets shredded the metal of the car frame. It didn''t take long before Chausiku managed to hit and pierce one of the rear tires. In the mud, the car they were chasing began to sway left and right, and then started to slip. Chausiku managed to hit the front tire on the same side. The pursuit was as good as over. The driver lost complete control of his car. Kaiyan slowed down. The car slipped to the left, but stopped in the middle of the road without crashing into anything, luckily. The driver got out of the car. Chausiku glared at him. He looked back at her with mad and desperate eyes.


    When he reached for his handgun, Chausiku lined up the barrel of the machine-gun with his legs and pulled the trigger mercilessly. She let the recoil of the gun take her aim upwards. Even though the man was hit in the legs first, the sheer force of the bullets kept him standing, almost pinned against the side of the car. Pieces of flesh and splatters of blood flew in every direction as the bullets riddled his body from toes to head. Chausiku ran out of bullets. The gun clicked emptily a few times. The man collapsed onto the muddy ground, revealing the side of the car, splattered with blood and gore and punctured with bullet holes.


    Thick smoke rose from the barrel of the gun. Chausiku exhaled slowly as a dead silence fell. In the silence, sounds of the aftermath rose up: the sound of crying over the dead, the murmuring of tribe members coming out of their hiding places, quick steps of people running to help the wounded.


    Chausiku came down from the gun-station. She grabbed her gun with shaky hands and let out a deep exhale of air and adrenaline


    ''I''m gonna check on my family, Kaiyan.''


    Kaiyan looked over his shoulder at her. ''Yeah, alright. Give my regards to your parents. I''ll fix this mess up, don''t worry.''


    ''I''ll give my regards. Thanks. And Kaiyan, nice driving.''


    Kaiyan grinned. ''Nice shooting.''


    Chausiku grabbed her gun and climbed out of the back of the car, onto the dirt road. It was still raining. In the distance, about 40 metres away, three children ran over to the body of the gunner. Chausiku looked at them. They rolled the maimed body onto its back. Chausiku grimaced a bit when she saw one of them pull off an engagement ring from the man''s hand, which glimmered brightly. The other clipped off a necklace from his neck. The third took the handgun from his belt. Two adults, most likely the parents, ran towards him and snatched the weapon from his hands. The little boy started crying over the loss of his toy.


    Stolen story; please report.


    As Chausiku walked towards her house, she couldn''t help but think about how it would be to grow up in such a horrid place like this. More importantly, in a time like this; a time of war, and chaos. Those boys just scavenged the body of a married man. A man who had lived a life, and had died far too young. That child just held a loaded gun. Anything could have happened in those few seconds. There had to be a change, soon.


    She walked into the narrow road. It was a bit on the edge of the outpost. There didn''t seem to have been caused any chaos here. She stopped by one of the small shacks. She knocked with the secret pass code and opened the door. She looked into a gaping, thick darkness.


    ''Chausi, is that you?'' sounded the frail and worried voice of her mother.


    ''Yes, mama. It''s me. I''m here.''


    ''What was all that racket outside?''


    Chausiku lit up the petroleum lamp by the door. She saw the old woman, sitting by the small table on a wooden little stool. There was a steaming hot cup on the table. The woman held her hands against it.


    ''Nothing to worry about. It''s all over now. How''s dad?''


    ''He''s still a little sickly, but he is getting better.''


    ''Can I see him?''


    ''He''s asleep. Best you go to bed too.''


    Faint crying and mourning sounded from outside, but luckily Chausiku''s mother was too deaf to hear it. Chausiku wanted to close the door, but Kaiyan came running.


    ''Emergency meeting.''


    Chausiku looked at her mother, who smiled and nodded her off.


    ''Hello missus Wero. Glad to see you''re doing okay.''


    Chausiku''s mother smiled at Kaiyan. ''Take care of my daughter, young man.''


    Chausiku closed the door and ran over the road towards the centre of the outpost with Kaiyan. They reached the large building in which the warriors gathered for every meeting. The chief of the tribe, a bulky older man who had found this outpost in an abandoned state for the tribe to reside in, called for silence after a few minutes. Kaiyan and Chausiku stayed together within the group of warriors and stood next to each other as the meeting commenced.


    ''An assault on our home. The Confederation is seeking to end the existence of our tribe, and they have now found the means to do so. Despite our efforts; radio silence, blackouts and even camouflage, the Confederation has found our location. Tonight was only a prologue of the theatre of war to come.''


    Chausiku and Kaiyan listened to the chief''s wise words, and listened closer to his instructions and orders. Traps and ambushes on the road, more patrols in the surroundings, but closer to the outpost. They were going to tighten the perimeter and concentrate warriors to secure it better. Chausiku and Kaiyan were not praised for their acts of courage of tonight, and they weren''t expecting to be. It was the duty of every warrior to protect the tribe with his or her life, and they weren''t rewarded for doing so. It was a voluntary act of kindness towards the tribe. Kaiyan managed a few patrols and sorted warriors into groups of five.


    It was not to Chausiku''s surprise that she was sorted into a group together with Kaiyan, and she didn''t mind it either. They made a good team, and the other three warriors were also good friends of hers and Kaiyan''s. There was Rina, a strong woman who had a lot of experience by hunting. Krotan was bit of a madman, but good in a fight. Tryo was an expert marksman, who had helped train Chausiku. He was a little old, but still very good with a gun.


    The cars were being retrieved from the site of the attack. They were being driven into the outpost. The wounded were also being carried by them. The group of warriors let them pass, and then crossed the road. Kaiyan started running, and the others followed. Chausiku did not know where they were running to. It was almost as if Kaiyan had read her mind, as he spoke under tight breath and in short bursts of words.


    ''I''ve parked-... the car-... somewhere hidden-... and safe. We''ll take-... that one.''


    They arrived at a small shack, Kaiyan''s house. There was a patch of grass which was usually empty, but now there was a big object, covered and camouflaged: the car. Kaiyan and Rina hauled the dark-green cover off the car, revealing the vehicle and its mounted gun.


    ''Oooh, that looks awesome,'' said Krotan. ''Can I? Please?''


    Kaiyan smiled. ''If you can find the ammunition for it, be my guest. I didn''t have a good look around the car yet.''


    Krotan did not wait. The man threw open the back door of the car and started his search. Chausiku, Rina and Tryo stood around the car, awaiting orders.


    ''Tryo, go get some petrol,'' said Kaiyan.


    Tryo did as he was commanded. He slung his gun from his shoulder and put it against the side of the car.


    ''Rina and Chausiku, scavenge ammo from the warehouse. Bring whatever you think is necessary.''


    Rina and Chausiku went to the warehouse and retrieved ammunition. There were a few other warriors guarding the place, making sure no unauthorized tribe members entered. The two women were known to the warriors, and they could get in without trouble. It was still raining, although a little lighter now. The rain clattered on the roof of the warehouse. The lights were on. No use for a blackout anymore, now that their location had been found. Rina went over to the ammunition and Chausiku went to the gas grenades. She had two left on her belt, and clipped one more onto it. They were heavy. One was on her left side and two on her right, to spread the weight a little, though it didn''t make sitting very comfortable. She grabbed four canisters and had to hold them with her arms. In the meantime, Rina had grabbed an empty crate and threw together a mix of different ammo types. She took the crate with both hands, and nodded to Chausiku to move.


    Chausiku did not get in Rina''s way on the way back, since the crate was heavy and Rina wanted to drop the thing as fast as possible. They walked with quick paces. When they came back to the car, Tryo was busy refuelling and Kaiyan was helping Krotan find the ammo for the gun. Krotan let out a scream of joy as he pulled an ammo crate from under one of the seats.


    ''Oh yeah! That''s what I''m talking about!''


    He hauled the crate out of the car and dumped it in the grass. Tryo finished up refuelling the car as Krotan opened the crate and took out a magazine of ammo. Kaiyan took some ammo from Rina''s crate and gratefully accepted a canister from Chausiku. Chausiku dropped the canisters into the crate of ammo and took a magazine of bullets for her rifle. She reloaded her gun. Tryo put the container of petrol aside and came to reload his weapon as well, as Krotan joyfully jumped onto the back of the jeep and started messing with the mounted gun.


    They were soon ready to leave. Krotan had managed to unclip the empty ammo box from the gun and replace it with a full one, and kept two full ones from the crate by his side. They hid the two crates of ammo and jerry can of petrol under the camouflage and drove off slowly. Krotan was on the mounted gun, mouth open and tongue out like a dog in an open window. Rina was sitting in the back of the jeep, opposite of Tryo, with Krotan''s legs between them. Kaiyan was driving, and had insisted for Chausiku to sit next to him in the passenger seat.


    ''You''ve been up the longest of us all. You should try and get some sleep, and this is the most comfortable spot in the car for that.''


    Chausiku smiled at him and nodded. Her gun rested between her legs.


    ''What are we going to do, Kaiyan? We''re not going on patrol, are we?'' she asked.


    ''No, we aren''t. We''re gonna find a new home for our tribe, Chausi.''


    Despite the shocking change of plan and disobeying of orders, and the smell of sweat in the front of the car, coming from pretty much every warrior except Krotan, whose armpits were fanned by the wind, Chausiku managed to fall asleep. They drove out of the outpost and onto the dirt road, into the darkness of the coming future.

 08. Forced Decisions

    Chapter 8


    Nick


    14-12-2019


    10 minutes after Chapter 5


    Nick wiped a tear from his eye with his hand. The salty liquid was slowly absorbed into the leather of his glove. He sat against the double doors of the train, as it went through the tunnels of the London underground. He suffered a wave of nostalgia; a reminder of the better times. The trains packed with hundreds of people, each of them with their own purpose in life, until that horrible day came.


    ''Nick? Mate, you there?'' sounded Rory''s voice under a few static cracks.


    Nick grabbed his radio. ''Yeah, I''m here, what''s up?''


    ''You''re about to arrive at Baker Street. Get out of the train there and head to Queen Mary''s Gardens.''


    Nick sighed. ''Alright, Rory, thanks again.'' He switched off his radio.


    Nick calmly reloaded his crossbow as the train rolled into Baker Street station. It stopped, and the doors slid open. Nick stood up and stepped from the train onto the platform. The lights of the train dimly lit the platform; enough for Nick to see. He walked towards the stairs. The lights of the train then switched off as Rory disconnected power, and Nick was back into the thick engulfing darkness. He clicked on his torch. The beam of light drove the darkness away, and allowed Nick to slowly navigate over the platform.


    The air was surprisingly fresh. No smell of death or decay, just clean air. Nick found the stairs up to the station itself. As he ascended them step by step, the air became fouler. It had just been the air feeding through the tunnels. In the main building, the dead had probably been piled up.


    Nick reached the top of the stairs. He quickly scanned the chamber. It was hallway, he concluded from what he could see. He walked forwards. The air became fouler and fouler. Nick was not comfortable with this. It had almost passed the point which he still recognized as the smell of burnt bodies, and was reaching the point where he had to move fast or risk infection. As he walked further along the hall, the stench became fouler. Not good. Nick pulled up the make-do mask he had, which was nothing more than cloth. He pulled it over his nose and mouth.


    He ran slowly, careful not to slip on the wet tiled floor. It was freezing cold down here, probably even more than outside. The old advertisement posters went by him. He held his crossbow cautiously, and aimed the torch at the floor three metres away from his step, to make sure there was nothing to trip over. He turned around the corner, to another flight of stairs, and scaled those with great speed as well.


    He had reached the top level. The big building of Baker Street Station. A source of sunlight at the far end of the hall marked where Nick had to go. The black silhouettes of decaying bodies shaded across the floor in the dim light of the outside. Nick only looked down a few times, and not when his torch lit up one of the bodies. He did not need to see them. The men and women, collapsing on the sidewalk and the street, their bodies picked up and scattered in here, as if this building was a mass grave. The children, boys and girls ranging from all ages, each of them coughing up blood, and then choking on their own innards. The ugly details which the media decided to leave out, and with good reason.


    Nick sprinted towards the exit, after having hopped over a gate. The floor, smeared with dark blood and dotted with bodies, became icier as the exit came closer. The doors of the building had remained open, letting in rainwater and the cold. Nick did not think about it though, he had to get out of the infected air as soon as possible. When he started to slip on the icy floor, he slowed down, but still jogged. The exit was only 20 metres away. He reached the opened glass doors and stepped onto the sidewalk. He exhaled as much air as possible, emptying his lungs entirely, and then inhaled the fresh and uninfected air deeply. Now it was just a matter of fate. If he was still alive in a few days, he had not been infected. The bleep of radio sounded. Nick flicked the switch, turning the device on.


    ''Nick, are you there? I think your heat signature just popped up on my screen, am I right?''


    ''Yeah, what''s up?''


    ''Alright, go left from the entrance, follow the road and take the first left. From there, walk to the next big cr#ossing and turn left there as well.''


    ''Where was it I''m heading to again?''


    ''I''m taking you to the park. Another supply drop for you there, you should be running out of food by now.''


    Nick had been ignoring the emptiness of his backpack. He had very little food and water left to consume.


    ''Alright Rory, thanks.''


    ''Oh and by the way, quick warning: I''m reading a heat signature after the second crossing. Just one, so you''ll have to see for yourself.''


    It had not been the first time Nick had encountered another lone survivor. Not all survivors had become looters, bandits or burners. Those were the three classes in which Rory and Nick divided the groups of survivors.


    Looters weren''t well-armed and roamed the city, scavenging whatever they could find. They did not prefer to kill their captives, but that was not necessarily a good thing, since sexual violation and torture as entertainment were not excluded.


    Bandits were next-level looters, with better weapons and equipment. They usually did not leave any survivors, either making it a quick death or a slow one; that depended on the mood they were in.


    Burners were psychopaths. They did not seek anything. They killed everyone in their path, and weren''t afraid of cannibalism to survive. They used anything as weapons.


    The lone survivors were usually decent people. Normal people, just like Nick, who were just caught in the middle and trying to survive. Nick''s breath was visible in the cold air. He walked over the sidewalk, along the tall buildings which enclosed the street from either side. The street was dotted with half-frozen rubbish bags and other objects which were thrown out of the buildings. Rory had not mentioned any other heat signature inside any of the buildings. They had probably been abandoned long ago. It was only something like an hour ago, that none of this had happened. An hour ago, he had still been sitting on the hood of the wrecked car, listening to his music.


    Nick reached the crossing. He turned left, no longer sticking to the sidewalk. He stopped and took his backpack off his shoulders. He grabbed his iPod from the bag and switched the device on as he slung the bag over his shoulders again. He untangled the earplugs and selected one of his playlists. He put the plugs into his ears and turned on the music. He continued walking, lost in the songs of the past.


    When Nick reached the second crossing, which had been a long walk than he had anticipated, he took one earplug out and left the other one in. He grabbed the radio from his belt.


    ''Rory, come in please...''


    After a few seconds the crackle of Rory''s microphone broke the silence.


    ''Yeah, Nick, what''s up?''


    ''Are you still reading the heat signature in this street?''


    ''Yeah, it''s somewhat 70 metres down the road. Hasn''t moved yet.''


    ''Alright, thanks. Out.''


    Nick placed the radio back on his belt and switched it off. He looked into the road. At the end of it, there would have been beautiful greenery in the summer: now there were leafless trees, grey bushes and glistening white grass. However, the road itself did not miss much greenery either. The once white and cr¨¨me walls of quaint and large houses and buildings, with an alluring architecture, were almost fully overgrown with thick vines and weeds, which were dying in the frost. There were multiple cars in the road, blocking Nick''s sight on what was behind them. Nick supported the weight of the crossbow with his other hand. Carrying the weapon steadily with both hands, he walked slowly over the road. He passed the first abandoned car. With every step, he was cautious. If he did not feel any snow for grip, he pressed down his heel a little harder to anchor himself into the ice.


    Nick took his iPod from his pocket and turned down his music a little. He searched for a voice, or a sound. Nothing yet. He continued walking. Every step bluntly echoed through the quiet road. Not even the fluttering of wings of distant birds was present. From one of the cars in front of Nick, somewhat ten metres away, an old, black man revealed himself. Nick, startled by the sudden appearance, raised his crossbow towards him. The man raised his hands shakily. He was dressed in saggy, filthy clothes. He had a grey beard and dark freckles. A desperate look on his face.


    ''Please, sir. Just-'' stammered the man.


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    ''I won''t kill you. Don''t worry,'' said Nick calmly.


    The man lowered his hands, stepped forwards a bit, and sighed deeply. Tears were in his eyes


    ''I am so happy that I have found someone who is a little normal here. Sir... I must ask of you... kill me.''


    Nick lowered his crossbow. He wasn''t sure if he had understood it correctly. The man fell to his knees in desperation and sobbed.


    ''Just kill me, please.''


    Nick was paralyzed. ''I''m not killing anyone.''


    ''Just kill me, quickly, before it happens.''


    ''Before what happens?''


    ''I''ve already killed myself. Slowly. Please... kill me quickly!''


    The man coughed. Nick recognized that cough immediately.


    ''Don''t you see? Please, be kind. Be generous. Give me a quick death. I''m already dead.''


    ''Why did you do this?''


    ''I... I lost everything. I don''t want to live this life anymore! I don''t like this world! Take it from me... before the virus does.''


    Nick was speechless. He would never spill the blood of an innocent man. But he would be doing this man a huge favour. Anything better than to choke on your own organs.


    The man gagged. He reached out with his hand to Nick as a gurgling sound came from his mouth. It was happening. Nick decided. He raised his crossbow.


    ''Please, try to be as still as possible.''


    The man sort of calmed down. His mind was ready for death, but his body was still fighting to survive. Nick saw that he was trying to eliminate all the movement he could. Blood came from the man''s mouth now. It drooled over his lips and trickled down his neck, into his clothing. The pressure of Nick''s finger, the click of the trigger, the twang of the bow releasing. With a thud, the bolt pierced the man''s skull. He fell backwards in instant silence. Nick exhaled tensely.


    There was no sign of much blood. It had been a clean shot, but not anything Nick was proud of. Never did he think he''d look a man in the eyes and shot him without him being a twisted or horrible person. Then, the realisation dawned upon Nick that his job was not finished yet. The end of the bolt glimmered in the blue rays of sunlight, protruding from the man''s forehead. He wished that he didn''t have to do what was to come next, but he did. He needed to save his bolts. He had already lost two of them today, and he needed to collect his bolts when he could. There was space, there was time, it was necessary. His thoughts were startled and disturbed by Rory''s voice.


    ''I see the heat fading. Didn''t work out well? What happened? I thought you said you wouldn''t kill innocents?''


    ''Rory, listen to me-''


    ''No! This is why I''m helping you! Because you don''t kill innocent people!''


    ''I didn''t kill him, Rory! He killed himself.''


    ''Ah... I see. I''m sorry, Nick. I shouldn''t have shouted.''


    ''It''s okay, I would have done the same.''


    ''Alright, well... the same plan still stands. Make your way to the park.''


    Nick walked over to the man''s body. His lifeless eyes stared stiffly at the grim sky. Grimacing, Nick took a firm hold of the bolt''s end. If he at least did it in one go, it would be bearable. Nick placed one of his boots on the man''s shoulder, and forced the bolt from its spot. With a nasty slitting sound and a bony crack, the bolt unanchored from the man''s head. Blood flowed swiftly from the gaping hole. Nick grimaced and felt his breakfast coming up. He breathed in deeply and looked away. He wiped the bolt on the man''s jacket and closed his pouch after he placed it back in.


    Nick continued his walk down the road. He reached another crossing and went straight on, into the park. He came to a small bridge, where he saw something which he had only seen once before. An official Anti-Riot barricade. The first and only other time when he had come across such a thing was when the riots started to break out as people started to flee the city to avoid infection. The police and the British army set up many barricades to hold off the rioters, who used extensive violence to try to get out of the city. The riot police used extensive violence to keep them back, in return; starting with paintballs, and escalating to live ammunition, the riot police did everything to quarantine the city.


    Nick had not taken part in the riots. He watched from the window of his apartment. A barricade had been set up at the end of his street. He knew that he would not be able to get out of the city, and made no attempt to do so. The first car came into the street. Nick sat down in his chair and stared down at the events below.


    The driver got out of the car. It was a middle-aged man. He went to talk to the officers. They stood in a line of two thick, about 20 men in total. In front of them, a steel barricade, which had been set up in around five minutes. Nick sipped on his beer as the man talked with one of the officers. The officers had thickly padded clothing on, and gas masks. As the man spoke, Nick could already see that whatever he was requesting was being declined. The man angrily got into his car. As he was putting the vehicle in reverse, two more cars came down the road, blocking his path.


    On the TV in the background, Nick just heard the same old message of "For your own safety, stay indoors." From the two cars down in the street below, five younger looking people appeared. They looked around Nick''s age. Another car appeared, and another. The street was now being blocked by the people who wanted to leave. The middle-aged man got out of his car and went to his trunk. One of the police officers shouted towards him. The man halted and turned around. The five others passed him and went to talk to the officers, as more people came into the street. More officers were involved in the heated conversation.


    The middle-aged man turned around and went to the back of the car.


    The officer shouted the words so loud, that Nick could hear them clearly: ''Don''t open your trunk!''


    More people came. Within a minute, the civilians had become more numerous than the police. Every police officer in the first row had a paintball gun. Nick could not see what the officers of the second row had as weapons, but he was certain that it''d be something more serious. The middle-aged man turned to his trunk. Twice now, he had disobeyed the orders of the officer, and the officer had had enough. He fired a warning shot into the air. The man opened his trunk at the same moment.


    The crowd were startled and a little silenced by the warning shot. Nick couldn''t believe what he was seeing. One of the officers climbed over the barricade to go to the man. As he mingled into the crowd, Nick held his breath. As he had feared, there was a shout, and the officer was jumped by two people. The dull bang of a paintball gun sounded, as the officer tried to fight the people off.


    Nick assessed the situation, just as the commanding officer did below. Two people attacking an officer, an angry mob of somewhat 40 people standing in front of them, and a man who was taking an unknown item from the trunk of his car. Nick released his breath when the officers opened fire upon the mob with their paintball guns. People screamed and ran backwards. The floored officer was trapped under the feet of the running people. As the street cleared, he was left on the asphalt with a broken body.


    Then something happened which Nick had not anticipated at the time. The people, mostly males, came back. They stormed the barricade, ignoring the paintballs almost completely. The officer was lost in the chaos. The officers in the second row shot canisters of tear gas into the crowd. This only made things worse: the canisters had been shot too far into the back of the crowd, so the people only had more reason to storm the barricade and get away from the gas. When the people started to climb over the barricade, they crossed the line in the eyes of the officers. Nick looked away, but heard the real gunfire. He found himself to be eerily calm, as people lost their lives not far below him.


    Nick stared at the barricade. The steel plating had taken a beating. The large dents were very noticeable. There were charred and misshapen pieces of scrap lying around. It was covered in a thin layer of ice. Nick concluded from this scene that some serious shit must have happened. He climbed over the barricade, after having carefully removed the ice.


    As he stood on the other end of the barricade, he realised that his still had his music playing faintly in his left ear. He grabbed the other earplug and put it in his right ear. He took his iPod from his pocket and turned up the volume of his music. He sighed deeply, and continued his walk into the park.

 09. Jump

    Chapter 9


    John


    08-11-2022


    2 days after Chapter 6


    John and Mike stood in the open green field. A small line of trees parted this field from the other, where they camped with the others, and whilst that field was sometimes crawling with soldiers from one tent to another, this one was almost always empty. The sky was blue, with only a few white clouds away from calling it clear. The sun shined brightly, but the cold of the winter still persisted to infiltrate the air, and left the soldiers with a temperature just above 0 degrees Celsius. They were at the location for two days now. John had recovered from the captivity, except for a few burns on his back. He enjoyed his time here. Shadow came sprinting towards Mike with the ball they were throwing.


    ''Good boy! Loose.''


    Shadow obediently dropped the ball from his mouth. Mike grabbed the ball and stepped back a bit as Shadow waited patiently but alert. He hurled the ball into the distance. Shadow turned and shot off behind it.


    ''So, big day tomorrow,'' said John.


    Mike nodded silently as his eyes followed Shadow.


    ''Yeah... don''t worry though.''


    Shadow lunged himself towards the ball, rolling over the ground as he caught it between his powerful jaws.


    ''If you remember the jet-training, you''ll be fine.''


    Mike had shown John the way the soldiers here had gotten onto the carrier ship before, and how they would do it tomorrow. They had improvised it in an improvised simulator, but according to one of the soldiers, it was nowhere near the real experience. To say the least, John was nervous of what was yet to come.


    Shadow came jogging towards John and dropped the ball by his feet. Mike smiled. John gave Shadow a rustling stroke across his back and grinned as the dog licked his hand.


    ''That''s a good boy!''


    That evening, a few of the soldiers had prepared a thick soup, and served it to everyone in the camp. Mike and John took their time to enjoy something which had not been packaged and stuffed into a backpack, left there for days, taken out and then heated up in boiling water. It was a thick French onion soup, with cheese and bread. It reminded the two men what real meals tasted like, after having eaten packaged food for months on end.


    The two men slept in hammocks under a dark-green canopy. They watched the sun go down through the trees. Mike turned around to go to sleep, with Shadow lying below him on a soft bed of clothes. John looked at the dog, who slept peacefully, and yet still with one ear up to listen out for noises. Snoring filled the canopy, and John could not figure out whether it was Mike or Shadow. But the snoring was not what kept him awake. Instead, the thoughts of the next day was the cause of his restlessness. With eyes wide awake, he thought about how he would be soaring upwards through the sky, and what would face him when they got onto the ship. He thought about Robert and Mason. If he would find them on the ship, and if so, in what state. What if they had been faced with the same fate as he had, on the same day? A body in the middle of a field. A parachutist without a chute. A mysterious suicide or murder. No explanation as to how the body got there or who was involved. How long would it even take for someone to find it? Days? Weeks?


    The next morning was an early one. Before dawn, John was woken up by Mike, who patted him a few times on the shoulder. Mike walked from under the canopy and into the treeline to take a piss together with Shadow. John had maybe slept 2 hours in total, with a few minor nightmares in the mix. He got up from his hammock and put on his special clothing, which was extra thick. After he had done that, he too went into the treeline to do his business.


    After a good breakfast, the Scottish man who had rescued John, called Liam, gave the men a briefing of their mission in one of the tents. He would also join them as the commander of the group, and lead the operation.


    ''Right, both of you have simulated and practised the jump as well as you could. It does not even come close to the real thing, however. When you blast off, you will go from 0 miles an hour to 60, in 4 seconds. You will feel great pain in your back, but the most important thing is that you do not give in to the force and bend, because you will tilt and spiral out of control. When we are on the ship, you will listen closely to my commands at all times. We''re searching for a classified object. If you think you''ve found an object of interest, report it to me.''


    Roughly two hours later, John walked over the grass towards Mike and Liam in the open field. The sky was shrouded with a thick layer of grey clouds; the cover for the ship. John had been armed and geared up by two soldiers who had done these things many times before. During the process, they had kept on reassuring John that everything was going to be fine, which really only invoked more nerves. The jet blasters were strapped secure to his waist. His rifle was secured to his chest, and the backpack of the parachute rested on his shoulders. He had been fitted with a helmet and a small emergency oxygen tank. He was about to execute several lethal stunts with little to no training.


    ''You two go first on my mark, I''ll follow to make sure you are doing okay. Remember; keep your body straight, and don''t panic when you tilt, adjust carefully,'' instructed Liam a final time.


    In the distance, Shadow barked ferociously at the soldier who held his leash tightly. All he wanted to do was go to his boss. Technically, they would only be gone for a few hours at most, but it felt like they would leave for days or weeks. Mike looked at his dog with saddened eyes.


    ''Don''t worry, mate. He''ll be here, waiting for you,'' John said.


    One of the soldiers raised his hand in the air. A second later, Liam shouted ''Go! Go!''


    Mike switched his gaze from shadow and looked into John''s eyes. He tapped the small button on his waist. John did it a split-second later. He had his back tightened, and felt the pain which Liam had warned them about. John saw the horizon lowering beneath him. A third blast sounded two seconds later; Liam. At this point, John didn''t even know if he was tilting or not, he just went with it, thinking only about how high he was. The gear was specially designed to keep the flight straight, but if one were to tilt his body, the blasters would be guided by that instead. John kept his body as straight as possible. He looked up. The clouds came closer rapidly. Their greyness engulfed his sight.


    Suddenly, he felt water and humidity on his body as he went through the cloud layer. His vision was impaired by countless of droplets on his helmet as he passed through. Then blue. A beautiful, stunning blue. Still keeping his body as straight as possible, he looked around him. Still a little above him, the massive vessel hovered. The edge of the flight deck was somewhat 100 metres away. Now came the hard part: tilting towards the ship to make the deck, before the fuel which was stored in the relatively small tanks of the blasters ran out.


    Liam shot up towards John. They almost hit each other. As Liam was the flight coordinator, so to speak, and he could adjust his speed whilst John and Mike couldn''t. Liam pulled John''s shoulder into the correct angle. John let his body sway into the direction and flew towards the colossal floating ship. The grey steel of the massive vessel glimmered in the sunlight. At this point, the fear kicked in with John that they could be identified as missiles, and the anti-missile system would kick in, in which case they would soon be penetrated with countless bullets. John felt hot, even though the air at this altitude was below freezing point. He saw Mike in the distance, and the bright lights of his jet blasters. Liam passed Mike as well and led the two men to the ship.


    John prepared himself for the landing. He now knew that they had gone unnoticed, because if they had been, they would have already been fired upon. He followed Mike and Liam until he flew over the asphalt flight deck. John hit the button again, which initiated the landing system. He remember what he had learned in the training and threw his body backwards. The jet blasters twisted downwards and threw him up straight, before decreasing power, whereby John softly dropped to the ground and landed on his feet. He looked around, quickly. Mike and Liam had landed 50 metres away from his position, 20 metres away from each other. John unclicked the rifle from the two braces on his armour. The weapon was equipped with a silencer for stealth and a reflex scope for accuracy. John ran steadily towards Liam and Mike. When he was somewhat 10 metres away from them, a loud siren came to life and echoed across the deck.


    Under the shrill blasts of sound, Liam shouted; ''Come on, we have to get to cover!'' as he pointed towards the fighter jets which were parked 50 metres away from the runway, around 200 metres away from their position.


    They ran as fast as they could directly towards the row of fighter jets. They ran into the row of aircraft and stopped between two of the large jets. This ship was the same design as the one on which John had been held and tortured. At the end of the flight deck, there was the same steel building and doorway.


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    ''The siren is not an alarm for us, but a call for crew. They''re going to launch a jet,'' said Liam.


    ''So what do we do? We''re stuck here,'' answered John.


    ''No,'' said Liam. ''We simply blend in.''


    The doors opened, and crew members came streaming in. They were dressed in bright overalls and had earmuffs on their heads. The sirens still blasted loudly. Liam took his rifle and rested it casually on his shoulder, after which he walked out from behind the jets. Mike and John followed his example and did the same. The crew members ran out over the deck. They passed John, Liam and Mike, completely oblivious of the fact that they were enemies infiltrating the vessel. The three men went through the doors and entered the steel, badly lit corridor.


    They descended into the countless lower decks of the flying ship. They reached the storage deck, after passing a few other sailors and soldiers on the steps. The deck was a maze of corridors, which ran between large storage cabins, each secured by a thick steel door. The storage system was fool-proof: the bright lights in the corridors revealed the white large numbers on each of the doors, and there was a clipboard which was hung on the wall, with the numbers of all the storage units and what was stored inside them. Liam took the clipboard and led John and Mike through the corridors. He avoided all of the storage units with food and maintenance equipment, and sometimes appointed one of the two men to check a storage unit which contained ammunition or "diverse storage". Whilst Mike was checking a storage unit, John and Liam continued through the corridor.


    ''Is there anything like a torture floor, or captivity floor?'' asked John.


    Liam turned around. ''Focus on the primary objective first, John. Your friends are secondary. I know that you''re worried, but we''ll find them. In the meantime, open this door. Ammunitions.''


    John obediently unlocked the door. He shifted the metal bar across the crack of the door, which triggered two thick steel pins, one above and one below, to shift out of place and unlock as well. He pulled the heavy steel door open with all his strength. The door came into motion, and slowly shifted across the metal floor. John looked inside. Complete darkness. John stepped inside the darkness of the room and slid his hand across the wall in search for a switch. When he found the switch, he gripped it with his fingers and flicked on the lights of the storage unit. Glistening in the bright light which had just been born, magazines of small arms ammunition, to explosives, to the ammunition for the big guns of the ship. Anti-Air shells, grenades, rockets, missiles, rifle ammo, machine gun ammo, crates of everything, stockpiled neatly into the storage unit, and there were 15 units of these in total. The ship was armed with an arsenal of weaponry, and this was the fuel behind it; the stored ammunition which would be able to keep the defences going for hours on end.


    Mike lent a hand with pushing the door back into place and locking it again. He had found nothing of interest in the storage unit of "diverse storage" which he had to check. Suddenly, the clunk of steps on the metal stairs sounded in the corridor. Someone was coming down.


    ''Act natural,'' whispered Liam quickly.


    Two soldiers came down the steps. Mike and John silently followed Liam towards the next storage unit, as if they had to check the units, or something of the sort. John heard the two soldiers walking behind them. A voice sounded. Russian. Liam stopped, and Mike and John came to a halt as well. For a second, all was silent. John nervously wondered if Liam knew how to speak Russian. He knew so much details about the ships, and tactics, but had he faced the challenge of learning the language as well?


    Liam let out a deep sigh, as the three men still did not face the two soldiers. ''Sides,'' said Liam calmly but clear and loud.


    It took a split-second for John to realise what it meant and react upon the order. Mike and John almost simultaneously threw themselves against the steel walls. Liam turned around as he pulled up his rifle and discharged several bullets through the silenced barrel. Before the Russian soldiers could react, they were both struck by the suddenly incoming projectiles. The corridor fell silent after the two men had fallen to the floor.


    A soft groaning rose from that short silence, as one of the two soldiers had survived the shooting, but was still incapacitated and unable to produce any louder or clearer noise from his mouth. Liam and Mike thought that the situation had been deflated and were relaxed already, but John noticed that the soldier, who was on the edge of death at this point, was reaching desperately for his gun. An unsilenced fired round would loudly echo through the lower decks, and alert everyone who resided within the ship. John acted swiftly. He fired a round into the man''s chest. A thin splatter of blood jumped from the chest and landed thinly and unevenly on the steel floor. The man''s arm dropped to the floor, his bloodied fingers only a few centimetres away from the trigger of his gun.


    Mike and Liam complimented John for his caution and the three men continued their search for whatever it was they were looking for. They did not bother hiding the bodies, because the floor had been smeared and splattered with blood anyways. Only Liam knew what they were looking for, and he never wanted to reveal what it was to the "grunts" in this team. Six storages later, John opened the door of a storage unit for diverse storage. The storage unit was dark, with the lights switched off, as always. By now, John knew exactly where the switch was for the light. He flicked it, and an almost empty steel chamber was revealed. All there was, was a rectangular box in the centre of the storage unit. It measured around a square meter and seemed to be extremely reinforced, with thick metal plates along every side. There was an eerie vibe to it.


    ''Liam, come check this out,'' said John. His voice was mildly cracked because of the nerves he had, which were created by the presence of this intimidating and mysterious object. Liam entered the room and inspected the box further.


    The box, patterned by the thick metal plating, came to Liam''s waist. He inspected the locking mechanism of the container and walked around it a few times to check for weaknesses in the reinforcement. John stood in the doorway and Mike stood behind him in the corridor, keeping a secure eye on the stairs. To Liam, it didn''t matter how long it would take to break open the box, but John and Mike still had their friends in mind, who could possibly be on this ship as captives. Liam gestured John to come to him.


    ''Hold this open,'' commanded Liam when John came to stand by him.


    There was a thick latch along the front of the box. Behind it, there was some sort of a digital square keyhole. In some ways, the box turned out to resemble an ordinary chest, only perhaps with some more modern attributes.


    John did as he had been commanded and lifted the heavy, thick, steel latch. Liam pressed the barrel of his rifle with the silencer at the end of it, against the keyhole.


    ''You can let go of that latch now, thanks.''


    John slowly slid the latch back. It rested against Liam''s silencer.


    ''I''m gonna attempt to break the lock, alright? Step back, mate.''


    John took a few steps backwards, and he and Mike watched anxiously as Liam steadied his aim. It was a wildcard. This would either work, or it wouldn''t. It might trigger a silent alarm, or may already have triggered one. Liam pulled his trigger and a bullet crashed into the lock of the box. A blast threw Liam backwards. The man crashed against the steel wall to the John and Mike''s shock. They ran over to him. The man''s eyes were wide open, but still. A little teary as well, or at least they seemed to be, in the bright light. Mike requested a response from him and John checked for a pulse. When John laid his hand upon Liam''s wrist, he felt a little jolt. It was like the jolt received from static electricity, but a little fiercer, compared to what John remembered about a jolt of that kind. The lid of the box lifted silently as Liam''s life force faded from his body. John went to feel a pulse again. Nothing.


    ''Mike, start reanimating him.''


    John pulled Liam''s body from the wall and Mike pulled the backpack from his shoulders. They put him on his back and rested his head on the backpack. Mike folded his hands and started to pump onto Liam''s chest.


    Three minutes later, after having switched places as well, the two men were forced to give up on Liam. Now it was just John and Mike. The "secondary objective"; their friends, came to the surface a little more. But they would not let Liam die for nothing, and would complete the primary objective first. John looked at the rectangular steel box, of which the lid had now been lifted. A dim yellow light glowed onto the underside of the lid. John looked at the container, and the box stared right back at him, provoking the fiercest curiosity he had ever felt and bringing to the surface a fear of what it was that resided in a heavily reinforced container on a Russian carrier ship, floating in mid-air, far above the French Alps.

 10. Ruins

    Chapter 10


    Chausiku


    03-12-2021


    6 hours after chapter 7


    The sun had already risen. It still hung low above the horizon, and coloured the cloudy morning sky orange and pink. Chausiku sat slumped on the front chair. Her rifle rested against the dashboard. She rubbed her eyes as she looked into the world from behind the windshield. The raining had stopped. They went up and down a range of hills in the rough terrain. The car handled even the most slippery and dangerous dirt roads well.


    ''Ah, look who decided to wake up,'' said Kaiyan, who still kept his eyes fixed on the road whilst talking.


    ''How long was I out?'' asked Chausiku with a sleepy voice.


    ''Somewhat five or six hours, I think. You slept softly.''


    They drove into a clearing. The treeline on either side of the road crawled back and took distance, leaving the road to cut through a marshy field. The car hit a rock under the mud and shook heavily.


    ''I don''t have a desire to die yet!'' shouted Krotan, who stood behind the gun.


    ''Did he ever get down from that thing?'' whispered Chausiku.


    Kaiyan scoffed. ''Of course not.'' They both chuckled.


    ''Krotan, aren''t your legs feeling a little tired?''


    There was a moment of silence from the gun station. Chausiku threw a glance over her shoulder. There was a pair of legs between a sleepy Tryo, who rested his head on his arms, and a dreamy Rita, who stared out of the back of the car.


    ''Maybe a little,'' sounded Krotan''s voice under the rumble of the engine. He shouted, but his voice was carried away so much by the wind that it sounded faint.


    They shifted around in the wide car and Chausiku carefully climbed from her seat to the back of the car, after which she had to reach out and grab her rifle from the dashboard. Tryo took Chausiku''s place in the front of the vehicle, so that he could get some sleep. Krotan sat down opposite Rita to give his legs a rest, and Chausiku stood up into a blast of fresh air as she climbed the mounted gun.


    The dirt road started to transform into a gravel one. Chausiku felt the rough shaking and scarily slipping of the car becoming less and less as the road had more grip and evenness. The tall jungle trees towered above the ground and formed an intimidating wall on either side of the road. It made Chausiku feel a little trapped.


    The clearing lasted another 20 minutes of driving, before the treelines started to close in on the road again. Chausiku felt the intimidation of the tall trees even more now. The quality of the road did not reduce, however. Chausiku''s legs started to feel a little tired. Krotan had lasted 6 hours, and she had just been on the gun for shorter than 30 minutes. What joy he must have felt, to be distracted from the aches of standing. Then again, she had just been woken up from her sleep.


    She decided to ask how long it was until the estimated arrival time. She got down and sat on her knees, also resting her upper legs a little in the process.


    ''Hey uh, Kaiyan, where are we actually going?''


    ''The Baranu Ruins. No-one knows about it as far as we are aware.''


    Kaiyan kept his focus on the road. A driver had to remain focused and calm when driving on roads such as these, where any mistake could turn out to be fatal.


    ''How long is the drive from this position?'' asked Chausiku.


    ''Maybe another hour,'' replied Kaiyan.


    Chausiku stood up and held the gun again. Another hour. When the road became even narrower, Kaiyan reduced speed and switched gear. Maybe longer than an hour. The thick branches above them hung over the road. The thick vines which covered them had grown to hang down so far that Chausiku sometimes had to watch her head or risk getting a nasty strike across the face.


    ''Sorry for the trouble!'' shouted Kaiyan from his seat.


    After another 30 minutes, as they were enclosing the site of ruins with a greater speed again than before, Krotan asked to switch with Chausiku. He had eagerly awaited their arrival for six hours, so Chausiku granted him the joy. She kneeled down and let Krotan get up onto his feet. She sat down in his spot. She took the rifle which she had laid down on the floor. Rita looked at her.


    ''Had a good sleep?'' asked Rita.


    ''Yeah, I slept well, thanks,'' answered Chausiku. They sat in silence for the next few minutes and both glanced outside, at the passing trees. Chausiku caught herself stroking the cold steel of her rifle, as if it were some kind of pet. She stopped and gripped the handle tightly, looking up back at Rita. Rita looked back at her.


    ''Nervous?'' asked Rita, not even in a taunting way.


    ''A little. Just nervous to see how we''re going to do this. We have to move an entire tribe over this road, if these ruins are safe.''


    ''Yeah. IF these ruins are safe. For all we know, it could be swarming with-''


    Kaiyan''s loud voice broke the conversation. ''OH FUCK!''


    Something banged hard against Chausiku''s side of the car. She was thrown against Krotan''s legs. Her rifle slid across the steel floor and against Rita''s feet.


    Chausiku scrambled onto her feet and dropped back into her seat. She was about to ask what was going on, when a truck came into her vision behind the car. Rita pushed the rifle back towards Chausiku with her feet, who picked it up and flicked off the safety. The pair of legs between Rita and Chausiku stepped around as Krotan went to face the back. His shrill and manic cry sounded a second before a heavy blast of gunfire. The gun was so powerful that Chausiku felt the clear vibrations in her feet. She looked at the truck. The front of the vehicle was being utterly destroyed by Krotan. Large gaping holes in the windshield appeared, and sparks of friction between bullet and plating flickered across the entire front.


    A man in a grey and thickly armoured uniform leaned with his upper body down the side of the truck. Someone was holding his legs inside the truck, or else he would have already fallen by now. He held a rifle with two hands and aimed towards the inside of the car, where Rita and Chausiku were seated. They had no cover; no probability of survival if he were to open fire. Krotan''s bullets tore through the metal and shredded the truck so badly that at one point, the front bumper started to come loose. When the heavy bar of steel broke off, it anchored itself hard into the ground. The other side of the bumper immediately broke off as well, but a sudden shock rippled into the truck. It was enough for the man to lose his balance completely and, beyond saviour by the other soldier inside, fall backwards. He landed painfully on the back of his neck and rolled wildly out of sight behind the truck. Chausiku tried to ignore the fact that she saw almost every single limb hang loosely whilst he was rolling and probably had broken his entire body. However, for some reason she could not lose the image in her head about the man lying on the side of this road, in pure agony, not able to move a thing, lying there to die, completely abandoned.


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    Krotan finally managed to strike the driver of the truck. It did not matter much though, because the large vehicle was already having trouble keeping up with the car. It just so happened to be in a turn, and the truck crashed head-on into the treeline. Rita looked at Chausiku.


    Kaiyan shouted; ''Everyone alright!?'' Confirmary yeses sounded in the car. Poor Tryo had not gotten much sleep. They were less than five minutes away from the ruins.


    ''Do you think they have a base in the ruins? Where did that truck even come from?'' asked Rita.


    ''That truck came from the only goddamn intersection that this road has. They must have a tracer on this car. Whether they know about the ruins, I can''t say for sure,'' replied Kaiyan.


    ''The ruins aren''t visible from the air. How would the Confederation know about their location, or even their existence?'' said Tryo.


    The car fell back to silence. All there was was Krotan''s feet shuffeling sometimes. It was a silence, not out of tiredness, or relief. It wasn''t out of awkwardness or comfort. It was a silence of anticipation. A tense silence, under the fierce rumbling of the engine. The road ended, and the ride got wilder. This was the part why the ruins weren''t easy to find for those who didn''t know where they were. There was not even a trail or a path which led to them.


    The silence was broken by Rita''s sudden scream, as a flash of blood flew over behind the car. Chausiku gasped and turned her head towards the pair of legs in front of her, as she realised what the only place was where the blood could have possible come from. Krotan''s legs collapsed. His body crashed loudly onto the steel. His head had been struck by a large bullet. The entire piece from above his left eye to his left ear had been torn apart. Blood gushed out in massive amounts and spread across the floor. Bits and pieces of skull and brain were flushed out with it. Rita shrieked and Chausiku felt extremely nauseous at the sight of Krotan''s severed head.


    Chausiku turned her head to Kaiyan. As she did so, a split-second later, a small hole was punctured into the windshield with a loud crack, and Kaiyan''s head kicked back silently into his headrest. Blood splattered into Chausiku''s face. She shrieked as she felt a chunky and slimy piece of Kaiyan''s head trickle across her lips. Her best friend''s brains had splattered across her face. She thought about her mother, who had warned him to take care of her. Instead, she had failed to take car of him. The car steered out of control. Kaiyan''s dead body rested its foot on the gas pedal.


    Going at full speed and steering wildly, the vehicle hit a rock which rested in the ground, with its front right tire. Chausiku felt gravity disappearing from her limbs, she was blinded by light as she was launched out of the back of the car. She crashed into the ground and felt her left collar bone crack painfully. Her right leg spun under her body and was crushed as she landed on it. She threw her right wrist to the ground to try and come to a halt, which only ended in even more pain as it folded under the force of her fall. She came to a halt, lying on her back. Everything hurt intensely; it felt as if every nerve in her body was held between a tong and squeezed to agony. She coughed dryly and felt her ribs move unnaturally beneath her skin.


    She heard footsteps approaching her and becoming increasingly loud, but she saw no-one as she tilted her head ever so slightly upwards. She couldn''t force it much further, because it felt like she''d decapitate herself. She saw the smoke of the car wreck, and heard the groans of Rita and even Tryo. She heard a faint, electric-like ringing noise. In front of her, at her feet, a shape of sparks appeared. A distorted human shape came into vision, as if it appeared out of thin air. It was an actual person. He held a large, powerful looking sniper rifle, with all kinds of high-tech looking features. Two other persons appeared as well. All three of them had black suits over their entire body. Their faces were also covered. It was some sort of chameleon suit. However, Chausiku could no longer think about things like that. In fact, things like that didn''t even bother her anymore. She felt the life leave her body.


    She heard Tryo shout inaudible curses, and a gunshot sounded. One of the three soldiers staggered backwards. He had been hit, but there was no blood. It was as if nothing had happened. The man held his gun with one hand and took a handgun from his belt. He walked out of Chausiku''s vision, towards Tryo''s voice. The second person turned and walked away, disappearing into thin air as the suit was switched on again. The soldier who had appeared first, also rested his gun in one hand. He grabbed his handgun from his belt. Chausiku knew what awaited her. Who were these faceless and speechless assassins? Were they sent by the Confederation?


    Tryo''s shouting continued until another gunshot cracked through the air and stopped it abruptly. The soldier in front of Chausiku tilted his head slightly, as if to give her a pitiful look, and raised his gun towards her head. She looked straight into the barrel of the weapon; into her own death. The flash from the barrel marked the end of her, as the bullet erupted from the weapon and penetrated her skull.

 11. Stroll through the Park

    Chapter 11


    Nick


    14-12-2019


    30 minutes after Chapter 8


    The music was nice. Even though the drums took the tempo of the song higher and higher, Nick found that it was only soothing. He strolled over the road which surrounded the inner park in the shape of a circle. It was called the Inner Cir.  He had already crossed the Outer Cir, which was a large street surrounding the park as a whole. After crossing the Outer Cir, he had found the barrier on the bridge. The vegetation on both sides of the road was thick, but the leafs had died off in the harshness of winter. It still revealed little of what rested behind the bushes and hedges.


    A low fence ran across the sidewalk. The frost had coloured the steel bars and spikes white and grey, and it glistened like silver in the sunlight. Sunlight? Nick stopped and looked up. The clouds were tearing open, revealing long stretches of blue. The sun was breaking through as well, shining brightly on a city of darkness and death, as if it were trying to be ironic. Nick looked back in the direction into which he would head, and started walking again.


    After a few minutes of calmly strolling around and taking in the environment, Nick came to a large gate. There were two smaller gates on the sides of the gate, for people. The large gate would have been used for vehicles. All of the gates had been violently opened. Large padlocks still lay broken on the ground. They had lain there for a whole year, untouched. Somewhere, Nick found value in that. He left them untouched as well, and continued to pass through the gate. This part of the park was named the Hidden City. It was a field with a lake, which was surrounded by the Inner Cir. Therefore it was formed in a circle.


    There was a long path which ran straight into the distance. At the end of it, there were thick bushes and shrubs, and smaller pathways that led behind them. If Nick''s memory was correct, there was a fountain there. His mother took him here when he was a child. He had been here when he was 12, once, and no more after that. His mother... Nick cleared the image of her face from his mind.


    Nick stood on the path and stared off into the distance. The grass was white from the frost. He grabbed the radio from his belt.


    ''Rory? You there?''


    After 10 seconds, there was still no response.


    ''Rory, mate? I need you, where''s the package?''


    Still no response.


    ''I''m in the park, mate. I need to move on before nightfall.''


    There was no response. Nick heard the static of the line, so there was a connection. There was a link. Rory must have been absent, or maybe he had muted Nick for no apparent reason. Maybe there was something more at play. It didn''t quite matter, because Nick''s plan would not be changed. He needed the food and other supplies in the package. Nick walked over the path with slow steps. When he reached the end of it, he took one of the paths which led behind the hedges to see if he his memory was still correct. It was. Behind the hedges rested a frozen fountain. The water had gone black with dirt.


    Nick decided to wait as long as it took. He took his raincoat from his backpack and laid it out onto the grass. He dropped his crossbow, took a seat on the coat and grabbed his backpack. He also took out the iPod out of his pocket. He checked the battery level of the device. The white characters in the top right corner of the screen read 42%. Good. Only if the battery were below 20%, would Nick find it necessary to charge it. So for now, it was more than sufficient. Nick took the radio off his belt. One last try then.


    ''Rory, come in, please.''


    After ten seconds, still no response. If Rory were there, he would have already answered the call. Nick switched the radio off, and rested it on the raincoat. He zipped open his backpack and rummaged inside. He felt the cable which he was looking for and ran his fingers down to the charging unit. The way that he charged his devices was through the use of a device which was invented in 2017. He took out the small device from his backpack, after which he grabbed the universal cable and searched for the right plug. After having found that, he connected the radio to the charging device.


    He lifted his arse off the ground, put the device in place, and lowered himself onto it. His weight applied pressure to a plate full of small dynamos. Under the applied pressure and the heat, the dynamos started to spin into each other, creating enough friction to generate a very small supply of electricity.


    As Nick did what he needed and simply sat there, he grabbed his backpack again. He took out a small packet and unwrapped it. The unwrapped package revealed a few tasty-looking sweets. They were colourful and cold. Nick grabbed one and put it in his mouth. He had missed the taste of sweetness, and was struck by the sugary goodness which melted in his mouth. He hadn''t eaten one of those in three days. Only bread, water and pills. Water was pretty easy to come by, even under the circumstances. Not all the clean drinking water in London had been cut off. Bread and the other food which he had didn''t decay very fast, due to the cold. It was the pills which were the most important, and also what he was running out of. Nick sat in the grass, surrounded by the cold air and silence of abandoned, rotted and looted London. He listened softly to his music, wandering away into the lyrics of the songs.


    Hours later, at the edge of nightfall, Nick was woken from his dream state by a crack in the radio. He grabbed the radio and held it against his ear. More cracking, sometimes a bit loud, and then, finally, Rory''s voice.


    ''Nick, you read me?''


    ''Jesus man, what took you?''


    ''I''m sorry bud, there was a bit of trouble. Nothing serious though. You''re in the park, correct?''


    ''Yeah, the Hidden City.''


    ''Ah, alright. Well, I''ll give you a quick update on everything in your surroundings. I can see someone else, but he''s walking on the Inner Cir. I''ll notify you if he gets closer. For the rest, there''s a large group of people on the Outer Cir, to your west. I''m counting 24 people, but there might be more, as they''re all close to each other and I can''t really define one heat signature from the other.''


    ''Wow... what do you think they are? Looters, bandits or burners?''


    ''I don''t really know. They''re not moving very fast, they''re not really spread out.''


    ''I''m guessing looters. Anyways, thanks for the update. Now can we get back to the matter at hand? If there''s someone else here, I want to be gone as soon as possible.''


    The sun lowered further towards the horizon. The sky was darkly orange. Maybe another 15 minutes, and then it would be completely dark.


    ''Ah yeah, your package, of course. Take the path to the left, towards the fountain. At the end, take the utmost left path and keep walking until you''re at the old Open Air Theatre.''


    ''Thanks Rory. I had my doubts if I was gonna be stuck here for a while or not, to be honest.''


    ''Don''t worry mate, I ain''t letting go of you that easy.''


    Nick packed up his things. The radio had been charged adequately. There was no battery level, but Nick didn''t want to risk losing contact at any time. With the music blasting through his earphones, Nick proceeded confidently towards the fountain. When he reached that, he did as Rory had commanded, and walked along the path which led to the left. After a few minutes of walking along pale grass and barren bushes, Nick came across the door towards the Open Air Theatre, as was indicated with an overgrown, filthy and slightly damaged sign.


    Night had fallen upon the city. Nick walked into the theatre with help of the flashlight on his crossbow. He carefully followed instructions which were being fed live through the radio by Rory. First, he was led to a shovel which had been put in the bushes. Then, he was led to a spot, where the package had been buried.


    Nick knew well enough that Rory was not just another survivor. He was more. He was able to place these packages for him, and have all of this set up, read heat signatures. He didn''t mind, as long as he survived. The only question he had for Rory, and had not seen fit to ask yet, was why him? Why help him? Was it by random, or was there more behind this? A larger plot behind this man, on the other end of Nick''s radio.


    Somewhere, Nick liked London the way it was now. There had been so much death, and so many people had suffered, but in the end, this was bliss. Walking through a city, full of abandoned and broken vehicles. Summer was something else though. The warmth was nice. No thick coats were necessary. But everything became so much harder. Food decayed quicker, the stench of death became worse. Summer had its ups and downs, same as winter. Nick stuck the shovel into the frozen dirt. It was hard, but not much of a bigger challenge than normal.


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    Deeper and deeper he went as the minutes counted by. The night became colder. The sky was clear, and the stars and moon gave him a bit of light. It was still the flashlight on the crossbow, which he had laid down into the grass, that was the biggest and most efficient source of light. Nick heard a clunk as he stuck the shovel back into the hole which he had dug.


    ''The package is in a vertical position, so you should be able to pull it out pretty easily.''


    Nick felt across the wooden face of the package. The "package" turned out to be a crate, and not a small one either. Nick also detected a rope handle. He gripped it tightly, and ripped the crate out of the cold ground. He supported its weight with his other hand and lowered it slowly onto the grass. He grabbed the radio.


    ''Rory, I''ve got the crate. How do I open it?''


    ''Should be a small handle on the edge of one of the sides.''


    Nick ran his hand down the edges of the crate and detected the smaller rope handle. He tugged at it, and the face of the crate opened slightly. He then gave it a good pull, and the crate was opened fully.


    ''Okay, what am I looking at here?'' asked Nick. There were tonnes of little packages and plastic bags.


    ''If you stand at the side where the face of the crate came out, the first section of packets on the left is pills. You got your vitamins, calcium, protein, etcetera.''


    Nick grabbed the crossbow and unclicked the torch from the frame. He aimed it at the crate and saw what Rory was talking about. He saw the little plastic cylinders of the pills through the transparent little packets. As he opened his backpack and started to take the plastic packets out of the crate, Rory continued with the instructions.


    ''In the middle, I''ve got some real nice treats for you. Matches, methylamine, and some batteries for your charger.''


    As Nick started to take the objects with excitement and relief, a gunshot sounded. A hollow scream echoed over the freezing night air. Nick was startled and turned quickly towards where it came from, clicking the torch onto the crossbow again and holding it in the same direction.


    ''Rory, where''s the heat signature!?''


    ''It took a right where you took the left. Why, what happened?''


    Loud shouting and crying was heard. A man. ''Someone, please, help me!''


    Nick stood frozen, not knowing what to do. Another bang sounded. A bright, red flare shot up into the black sky, screeching loudly.


    ''Nick, what was that...?''


    ''Something like a flare. What do I do?''


    The shouting continued. ''Please! Somebody! Help!''


    ''Nick... Get the fuck out of there, now. Get out of there!''


    ''What''s happening, Rory?'' asked Nick as he kneeled down and grabbed whatever was in the crate.


    ''Just run!''


    Nick slung the backpack onto his shoulders and ran towards the exit of the theatre as fast as he could. The screaming continued. ''Pleeaaaase!!''


    Nick couldn''t help him. Whatever was happening, he had to get out of there as soon as possible.


    ''Rory, fucking answer me! What''s happening?!''


    ''6 signatures parted from that group, they''re enclosing your position with great speed!''


    ''Fucking hell,'' said Nick under his breath.


    ''They''ve stopped at the bridge,'' informed Rory. ''Anything you saw when you crossed it?''


    ''Yeah, there''s a military barric-''


    A loud explosion cut Nick''s sentence off. It came from the bridge. Nick saw the erupting fire in the far distance.


    ''They''re crossing it now.''


    Nick ran along the path, but across the small field of grass where he had sat, close to the thick bushes and trees. The path was an ill-advised route to take. The distant screaming was slowly overlapped by the roaring of engines. When it reached a point of urgency, Nick decided to jump into the bushes and hide. Just in time, as well. He switched his flashlight off.


    Multiple single headlights came through the gate. Motorcycles. The engines rumbled loudly as they passed. The guys who rode them were yelling and cheering loudly, swinging weapons such as hatchets and wrenches merrily through the air.


    ''Kill the fucker!''


    ''Bury him!''


    ''Burn him alive!''


    ''Take him to Flox!''


    These were the so-called Burners. Absolute psychopaths, gathering in large groups, setting up traps around their territories, luring innocent people in and doing with them what they wish. They did not care about agreements, money, lives or honour. They were the savages in this survival. The ones who would only like to see you burn. There was, however, one thing different about these Burners than the others which Nick had encountered. "Take him to Flox", one had said. Did they have a leader? Burners didn''t. Well, not as far as Nick knew, at least. The bikers, still cheering and yelling happily, rode their bikes onto the path to the right, from which the man''s voice still echoed.


    Nick grabbed his radio and held it close. ''Are there any more coming?'' he asked, whispering.


    It took a few seconds for Rory to respond. ''No, that was it. They''ve stopped on the path. The rest of the group has halted, and not come closer.''


    Nick took his chance. He leapt out of the bushes and sprinted towards the gate. Behind him, as the sound from the engines of the motorcycles died down a little, he heard exclamations, shouts and screeches of manic happiness.


    ''Woooo! Fresh meat!''


    ''Hahahaaa!''


    ''Yeaaahh!''


    Nick switched on the flashlight as he sprinted towards the path and then towards the gate. He figured he''d make more speed on the hard tarmac than on the frozen, wet grass. He was almost at the gate. 30 metres, 20 metres, 10 metres. He started to pant, but in this situation, such a small thing like that won''t even begin to stop him. Then, the gate flashed in the white light of a headlight behind Nick. The sight of it destroyed almost all hope in Nick''s heart in a single second. He was too late to remain undetected, but not too late to run.


    He sprinted through the gate and headed left. The engines of motorcycles roared behind him, coming closer and becoming louder by the second. Nick knew that if he looked behind him, he would lose speed. He had to look forward and estimate the distance of his pursuers by sound alone. He heard the yells and cheers behind him, over the loud roars.


    ''We''ve got a runner!''


    ''Cut his legs off!''


    ''Take him alive!''


    ''Kill him!''


    In the chaos of the chase, Nick couldn''t help but laugh at the disorderly Burners. They may even let him go, because they''re so indecisive. Nick breathed in deeply, and a heap of oxygen came back to his brain. His sense came back, and he realised the seriousness of the situation he was in again. The roaring of the engines came closer, and closer, and closer.


    Suddenly, a crack against the back of Nick''s head. The pain seeped into his brains. He submittingly fell down on the tarmac in an exhausted fashion and felt the vibrations of the bikes riding by in his cheek. He heard their brakes screeching. He supported himself with his hands and looked up. The bikers had stopped 15 metres away. Nick was exhausted. If he''d run now, they''d kill him for sure. He was already surprised that they were keeping him alive in the first place. Not the usual Burner strategy.


    Nick dropped backwards onto his knees. With his hand, bleeding from the fall, he grabbed the radio from his belt. One of the bikers walked towards him. He wore a dirty mask which was made of the same hard fabric as a hockey mask. "Carpe Noctem" was roughly carved into the cheek of the mask. He stopped 2 metres away. In his hand, he carried a hatchet. He looked down at Nick, not speaking at all, just plainly gesturing Nick to stand up. Nick looked back. He pressed the button on the radio.


    ''Rory... I''m fucked.''

 12. Valuable Cargo

    Chapter 12


    John


    08-11-2022


    5 seconds after Chapter 9


    John stood up and looked at the box. A yellow glow reflected on the open lid, coming from whatever it was that was inside. Behind him, Mike closed Liam''s eyes. The smell of burnt flesh hung in the chamber. John walked towards the dreaded container and looked inside. There were six cell-like cases. They were transparent, except for the metal frame which held the thick glass-like material in place. They held a liquid which glowed a bright shining yellow. It was almost as if it was molten gold, except for the fact that it was an actual light source, instead of a reflecting metal.


    John grabbed one. He wore tight leather gloves around his hands, originally to protect them against the cold, so he did not have to be cautious. He turned towards Mike.


    ''I think we have our requested item, whatever this thing is. Did Liam have a pouch or anything?''


    Mike unclicked a plastic belt around Liam''s waist, then pulled a pouch bag from under Liam''s body and held it up silently. John took it from him and put the small metal container inside.


    ''Could it be radioactive?'' asked Mike.


    ''Nah, we would have seen warnings.''


    John grabbed Liam''s GPS tracker. The forces on the ground needed to know where they would land later, to pick them up.


    ''Mike, take Liam''s chute as well.''


    The two men carried on alone, and went over to the secondary and personal objective of this mission. Mike carrying Liam''s bag and John carrying his pouch and rifle, they left the room and walked to the set of metal stairs. By the looks of it, there was no silent alarm. There was no-one on the stairs either. John checked the chart at the stairs, on which all the decks and their uses were displayed. The personnel quarters were two decks below their position.


    Of course, personnel quarters and torture chambers were two very different things, but other than the storage decks, it was the best shot the two men could give. They descended further down. There was no-one to cross their path for now, but it was bound to happen on the  quarters deck. If that moment would come, John would honestly not know what to do.


    The corridors were of a descent width. It wasn''t the type of corridor which would usually be found on a naval ship. Instead of the claustrophobically narrow and dull corridors which one would find on there, these corridors were wider, taller, more pleasant, and even artistically used. They were wide enough for three people to stand next to each other with ease. As they jogged through the corridor under the pressure of time, they passed a Russian crewman who was spraying graffiti on the wall of the corridor. No-one stopped the man either, so it seemed to be allowed. The two men walked in single file to stay out of everyone''s way and avoid contact. It was strange how they were able to hide in plain sight. However, everything would change when someone would find the  two bodies on the storage deck, and it was only a matter of time before that would happen.


    When they reached what seemed to be the end of the deck, after 15 minutes of walking in a straight line, John was both relieved and unsettled when the corridors became darker, less cheerful and eerily quiet. It was the kind of atmosphere that reminded both men of their torture chambers. This had to be it. They took the left and walked into the badly lit corridor. The air was cold and humid, much like what John remembered. Instead of the light-looking doors of the chambers for crewmen and soldiers, these doors were reinforced. More and more indications that John and Mike were in the right place. John held his rifle tightly and in suspense. Visiting such an atmosphere once more did not do him any good at all. A heavy clunk sounded, and then the crunching of rusty metal bars and gears shifting into motion, as the lock of one of the doors, similar to the ones of the storage units, started to give way by someone on the inside. John held the rifle up and aimed down the scope. Then, a quick change of mind. He turned and signalled Mike. Mike nodded in both an agreeing and confirmative manner.


    The heavy, steel door opened slowly. John took his combat knife from his belt. Holding his own silenced rifle in one hand, Liam''s rifle slung over his shoulder, and combat knife drawn in the other hand, he launched himself at the guard who emerged from the doorway. Both men smashed against the steel door. Before the confused and overthrown guard could cry out for help, the steel blade which John wielded penetrated his throat, slit his windpipe open and tore apart the vocal cords. Mike turned into the doorway and found a second petrified soldier, who managed only to stutter an empty prayer before receiving three bullets in his chest. He had been unarmed. John and Mike entered the even darker chamber and saw the silhouette of a man, chained in the middle of the room.


    ''Mike, look for the lights.''


    They had hit the jackpot. Even if this wasn''t Rob or Mason, it was still a POW to free.


    Suddenly, the chamber was filled with bright light. There was a large set of lamps attached to the ceiling. John went over to the man''s front. His entire body was calmed with an amazing sense of relief as he recognized the man''s face.


    ''Rob! Oh my god man!'' he exclaimed.


    Mike was already busy with cuffs to the chains. There wasn''t anything John or Mike could give Robert, but the man was nonetheless filled with joy. As soon as he was out of his chains, Robert leapt into John''s arms and sobbed frantically. John held his friend tightly. Robert''s skin was as cold as the steel which surrounded him. He would have to go through the same agony which John had to go through; standing in the cold wind at a high altitude, almost freezing to death. After Robert had released his tears of horror in John''s arms, he ran to Mike and also threw his arms around him in silence. Mike wasn''t very comfortable with the entire concept of even being touched by another human being, and always avoided contact with people. He stood stiffly and paralyzed with Robert wrapped around him. He awkwardly patted Robert''s back.


    ''You''re safe now, bud.''


    Mike looked around the room for anything useful. There was a small table. A bottle of water stood on it. John gave it to Robert, who needed it most. The rifle of the second guard rested against the steel wall of the chamber on the other side. Robert had already received Liam''s rifle and parachute pack. Mike took the rifle for Mason and stood guard outside the door. They had gone unnoticed and without raising the alert for now. A little further into the corridor, there was another door. The three men lined up next to it. John handed his rifle to Mike and unlocked the door. When the door was unlocked, he pulled it open slightly. Voices came from inside, speaking in Russian.


    Mike handed John a flash-bang hand grenade. The name described the function of this weapon. When discharged, this grenade would release such a bright light that anyone who looked in its direction could be blinded for more than 10 seconds. As well as that, it also released a bang which was elevated to a frequency which was vulnerable for the human hearing, and could deafen someone temporarily, but not permanently. It was a non-lethal grenade, usually used in riots and hostage situations.


    John removed the safety pin from the grenade. He loosened his grip on the lever, and the click that sounded confirmed that the grenade was now live. John threw the grenade into the room and shoved the door shut. Mike handed him his rifle. The bang sounded. John pulled the door open and the three men went inside. This time, it was far more noisy. At least the guards were still caught completely off guard. John fired three bullets into the chest of one and Mike fired one clean shot through the head of the other. Mike went back to stand guard in the corridor as John and Rob approached their next rescue. This man was unfortunately a stranger, and not Mason. John banged furiously against the steel wall with his hand as Rob went to loosen the cuffs.


    ''Do you speak English?'' asked Rob.


    ''Yes. Are you from the UNE force?'' replied the man. He had a flat accent. Perhaps Dutch or German.


    ''Yeah, we''re here to take you home,'' said Rob.


    ''Captain Cartera, 2nd Air Force division.''


    ''Captain? 2nd division? Holy shit.'' John whispered a little too loud.


    When the cuffs clinked open, John and Rob saluted the captain as he stood up from the ground. He too was in the same overall as John had been in.


    ''First Sergeant John Farsworth, 47th Infantry division, Hotel squad,'' said John.


    ''Private First Class Robert Dangero, same squad,'' added Rob.


    Captain Cartera nodded towards Mike, who still stood watch outside the chamber, keeping a careful eye on the corridor. ''Who''s he?''


    ''Private First Class Michael Ensworth, same squad,'' answered John.


    ''Private Dangero, you don''t seem to be as well-equipped as your squad,'' said the captain.


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    John answered for Rob. ''We actually came to this part of the ship to rescue my own squad, sir. Rob has been in the chamber further down this corridor. We were looking for the fourth and final squad member, when we stumbled upon you instead.''


    ''I see. Well, continue your rescue party, sergeant. I won''t be taking over this mission from you, as I have to regain my strength.''


    John was relieved to hear that. He was afraid that the higher ranking officer would take over the mission, as would usually be the case in a scenario such as this. The captain turned out to be a respectable and compassionate man.


    They exited the chamber. The captain had taken the rifle of one of the guards, which was not equipped with a silencer, and Rob had passed him the half-empty bottle of water. They went down the corridor. There was only one more door remaining in the dark corridor. This must be so far down the end of the ship, that no-one bothered to come here, unless they were stationed in one of the chambers. They had not had contact yet with any enemy who just happened to wander into the corridor. They went through the same procedure again. John unlocked the door. When he pulled the door open slightly, there was no sound of voices. There was only the breathing of the three men beside him, and the very soft rumbling of the engines, far below them.


    John pulled the door open a little more and took his rifle back. They entered the chamber with quick speed and checked the room. Mike switched the lights on. What they encountered looked similar to the crime scene of a horror movie. One of the guards lay on his back, behind the metal plate on which the prisoner would usually reside. One of the steel handcuffs, from which the brace-pen had been torn, rested in his blood-gushed throat. The sharp and bloodied end of the brace-pen protruded from the top of the man''s head. The other trail of blood was smeared thickly across the wall and glistened in the light of the lamps. It led to the body of the second guard, which lay naked against the wall in an unnatural position. The prisoner clothes, also drenched in blood, lay on a small pile next to the body. His rifle was taken as well.


    ''Could Mason have done this?'' asked Rob.


    ''I don''t know, but he is the kind of guy who would do anything to get out of confinement,'' replied John.


    ''We don''t have a lot of time. We have to get back to the top deck. Whoever this was, he''ll have to find a way out on his own,'' said Mike. He was right. They were running out of time, and they already had the valuable cargo, Rob and a captain from a famously elite division of the Air Force.


    They walked through the dark corridor with a fast pace. As they turned into the well-lit corridor which went from one end of the ship to the other, John knew that things wouldn''t go down as easily anymore. Perhaps there was still a way to do this properly, and without raising too much attention. Rob gave his rifle to John, and captain Cartera gave his rifle to make. Both men slung the spare rifles onto their backs. Rob held his hands over each other behind his back, and so did the captain. John pushed Rob forwards and Mike pushed the captain. In this manner, they travelled slowly down the corridor. They passed two sets of stairs before reaching the one from which they had come. The men had received a few curious, weird and perplexed looks, but were not halted or stopped along the way. They went up the stairs, ascending through the ship towards the top deck. There was an elevator somewhere, but John couldn''t bother to try and find it. As they ascended another flight of stairs, one of the many, they were joined by a Russian soldier, who silently walked with them to their destination. The man did not speak, but he just followed wherever they were going. After three flights of stairs, John had had enough of the soldier working on his nerves. He turned around and aimed the rifle, almost pulling the trigger, when he recognized the man''s eyes. There was only one pair of eyes that had that same crazy look in them.


    ''Mason!?'' John exclaimed.


    The man had also raised his rifle with fast reflex.


    ''John!?''Mason''s voice was clearly definable and confirmed John''s suspicion.


    John and Mason flew each other in the arms, both dropping their weapons to the floor. Rob, Mike and the captain simply stared at the two men, a little perplexed.


    ''So this is your fourth man?'' asked the captain.


    ''Yes, this is Corporal Haggard. What were you doing, Mason?''


    ''Well I recognized Rob and thought that you were just some Russian blokes, taking him to his execution or something. I would have walked with you and then smoke you when you weren''t looking.''


    ''Brilliant as ever,'' grinned Robert.


    The men did not have much time to catch up on things. Time was running out, and they had to move fast. In their rush, they had become clumsy with the act of a prisoner escort. When they reached the top deck, a Russian soldier held John and addressed the "escort". Mason raised his rifle and fired a bullet into the soldier''s throat. The gunfire cracked loudly and echoed through the steel shaft of the staircases.


    ''Goddammit Mason! We have silencers!''


    Seconds later, the alarm sirens came into life and put everyone on the entire ship on high alert. The men ran as fast as they could down the corridor which led to the steel doors for the entrance of the runway. The steel doors opened before they reached them and two soldiers came through. Before they could interpret what the intentions of the group was, those were made clear with more gunfire. As they ran onto the runway, where the temperature was below freezing point, John pressed a button on the GPS tracker which sent the signal to indicate that they would be jumping off within a limited amount of time. On the ground, after receiving this signal, troops would stop following the tracker and make preparations for a landing.


    ''John, is there some kind of village or city beneath us, do you think!?'' shouted Mason over the loud wind and sirens.


    ''I don''t know, why!?'' shouted John as they ran to the edge of the ship as fast as possible.


    When they reached the edge of the ship, Mason took something out of his pocket. John''s eyes widened.


    ''What the fuck is that!?'' John asked, even though he knew full-well that it was a detonator for explosives.


    ''What do you think I''ve been doing in that time!?''


    When the captain was strapped to Mike and Mason was strapped to John, Mason asked again. This time, to the captain.


    ''Sir, you want this fucker down!?''


    The captain looked at Mason confusedly. ''Whaat!?''


    Mason nodded. ''Alright!''


    Without further warning, he flicked the cover off and pressed the button. The signal was sent over a separate frequency and activated 2 C4 explosives, which he had carefully planted next to a whole storage facility of fuel and ammunition.


    The first blast sounded, followed by a heavy shock. The men didn''t want to risk anything and jumped off the edge. Mason laughed hysterically on the way down. The captain and Mike were below Mason and John, and Rob was at the very top. Another, much louder, blast sounded. A large piece of metal debris shot past them towards the ground, missing John by only a metre.


    ''Holy shit!''


    Red smoke rose from a location on the ground, close to their position now.


    John banked left and steered towards the smoke. He opened the chute and looked up. He saw Rob, who also opened his chute. Far above him, there was a large wall of black smoke and raining debris. Below them, Mike and the captain also opened their chute.


    Later, they landed on the site. Mike and the captain, both trained for a jump, landed perfectly. Whilst John was briefed on how to land, Mason didn''t have a clue. They tumbled with a low speed onto the ground. Rob had no briefing and no training. It was a miracle that he even reached the site, but his landing was far from good. With full speed and a loose body, he let himself scrape over the ground and come to an end. It was another, smaller grass field. However, all there was to be found were two jeeps and a truck, parked on a dirt road 30 metres away from the clearing.


    Rob, captain Cartera and Mason were immediately taken to the truck to be taken into treatment. John and Mike were pushed into one of the jeeps to be taken to HQ with urgency. As John looked back, all he saw a black wall of smoke and fire raining from the sky, destroying whatever was there. The large vessel itself came crashing down. With an enormous blast which trembled the car, it crashed against the side of the closest mountain. The shockwave of the explosion spat up the dust from the earth and shook the car for a brief second. The driver started the engine and the two men shot off, past the truck, without being able to say goodbye to their rescued friends.

 13. The Order

    Chapter 13


    Avia


    01-12-2021


    2 days before Chapter 10


    The plane descended upon the runway. The propeller still buzzed as obnoxiously as it had when it was started up, an hour ago. The landing gear folded out from under the aircraft. This landing strip was 283 kilometres from her destination. She had enough time to get there; 2 days. In Norway, that distance could have been travelled within hours. Here in Ghana, it took a while longer. There were hardly any proper asphalt roads. The country had not been doing well in the last years. Road maintenance had dropped intensely. The quality of infrastructure in the country dropped with it. The West-African Confederation had not done much good for the country. However, the government and police within the Confederation were a lot less corrupt. The future would look better, as soon as the remaining tribes were slaughtered and scattered to the wind.


    Avia looked up from her book when the plane started to shake heavily at the touch of the landing strip. She folded the top corner of the page which she was reading and closed the book. She stroked its hard cover and read the large, thickly printed letters of its title. She then grabbed the backpack from under her chair and opened it. She put the book inside it and took out a small white envelope. She looked at it for a while and then stuffed it into the smaller compartment of the bag. She zipped it shut as the plane taxied over the strip, towards a rusty-looking hangar. When the plane came to a halt, two soldiers opened the door to the passenger compartment. Avia let the others out first. A black woman, dressed in purple robes made of dull cloth. A black man who stank of sweat and wore shorts and a t-shirt. Avia stood up, keeping her head down in order not to bang it against the steel ceiling. Carrying her bag with one hand in front of her, she made her way down the tiny aisle and exited the aircraft. One of the WAC soldiers wanted to offer her a hand, but she was already out before he could extend one.


    She stepped out of the hot cabin and into a fresh, warm breeze. The air was a lot less humid than it was in the plane, but still humid. The two pilots were stretching at the front of the aircraft. This was a pretty unpopular landing strip, just like Avia wanted it, and therefore there wasn''t much hurry. She walked into the direction of the hangar as the pilots and the soldiers had a little talk. There was a wooden table with two more soldiers. The other two passengers had already put their luggage on the table for them to check. The man was the first to be able to leave the table, and Avia took his place. She looked at the bag of the woman, which was checked thoroughly. There was a bunch of cosmetics and luxurious items, and the woman waited impatiently as the soldier went through all of it.


    Avia put her backpack on the table. There was a reasonable distance between her  and the soldier at the other side of the table, and the woman and the other soldier. She leaned in, staring the soldier into his eyes. He got the message and leaned in as well.


    ''Check the small compartment first,'' Avia whispered.


    The soldier looked at her and then nodded understandingly. He zipped open the bag and took out the stuffed white envelope. The envelope and its contents were identical to one which Avia had given to the man who checked her bag when she boarded the plane. The soldier''s eyes went from the envelope to Avia. She nodded, ever so slightly, just enough for anyone who was paying attention to see. The other soldier was finishing up with the woman''s bag. This needed to go faster. The soldier opened the big compartment and lowered his hands with the envelope into it. He then opened it, out of the other soldier''s sight. He closed it again and put the envelope into the rear pocket of his pants. He closed the bag''s compartments and handed it back to Avia without saying a word. She gave him a polite smile and walked off, just before the woman.


    Avia took her phone from the pocket in her jeans and looked through her contacts. A series of numbers had been named "Contractor", which was then followed by a period in the day. "Contractor 00:00-02:00", "Contractor 02:00-04:00", and so on. For every two hours another number. She selected the appropriate one. It took a few seconds before someone on the other side picked up.


    ''Hey, it''s me. Just landed at the airstrip, where''s your guy?''


    A distorted voice answered. ''He''ll be there in 1 minute and 24 seconds. Navy blue jeep, no license plate. He''ll take you to the others. Revise the briefing file.''


    Without Avia being able to say another word, a click sounded, followed by a neutral, continuous beep. The cold message of being hung up on. Avia wasn''t surprised. The contractor never wanted a phone call longer than two minutes.


    The blue jeep pulled up at the end of the landing strip. The two other passengers were still waiting for their pick-up. Avia walked quickly towards it and opened the passenger door. The driver, a bald black man dressed in a white shirt and khaki shorts, looked straight ahead through the windshield, not speaking a word. Avia got in silently and closed the door. He put the jeep in gear and took off, kicking up the dust which rested on the road. After 7 minutes, they reached an asphalt road. This was when Avia decided to open her backpack and take out the briefing file, like her contractor had advised. She took her book out, and then a thin black jacket, which concealed her handgun from prying eyes. Then she found the small device on which the briefing had been digitally programmed and planted. She took the little display in hands and plugged the earphones in which came with it. She listened to the words to which she had listened twice before and watched the display as it showed pictures, blueprints and maps which gave a visual representation of the words. A female voice sounded, monotonous and with clear articulation.


    ''"Target: Kaiyan Rasdo", residing within the Ayuga tribe, located in an unknown location within the Mole game reserve, Ghana.  This man is a war criminal. He is responsible for the deaths of 37 innocent lives. Your first objective is to meet up with two men, whom you will call Jason and Mark. They will call you Jane.


    This meeting will take place on the northern side of the R109, north of Daboya, on the eastern side of the White Volta river, at 02:00, 03-11-21. After collecting your equipment, you will travel west to position yourself at 9¡ã33''34.0"N 1¡ã48''12.6"W and intercept a vehicle coming from the north-east at 09:34. Kaiyan Rasdo will be in this vehicle. Eliminate him and any person who resides within the vehicle or witnesses the operation.''


    The trip continued until the late hours of the evening. They had just about reached the halfway point of the distance to the meeting. The two persons had not conversed or spoken throughout the long hours. Avia had been reading her book in silence. When the man pulled over at a safe distance from the road, he decided to break the silence with a simple question.


    ''Vegetarian or no?'' His voice was low, but still strongly accented.


    Avia shook her head, after which the man opened the door and got out of the car. Avia then decided to stretch her legs and go for a piss. Her steel bladder couldn''t hold much longer. The man opened the trunk of the jeep and started to rummage through a pile of supplies. When Avia returned to the car, she heard the buzzing of a machine. She came to stand with the man. He grabbed a canteen of water.


    ''To wash your hands,'' he said with a smile.


    And there she was, thinking that hygiene wasn''t as common here as in Norway. She knew that Ghana had a lot to offer, but in these areas of the country, you''d never know for sure. The buzzing she heard was a microwave. She had also heard a buzzing during the drive, but that was a small fridge in which make-ready meals were stored, along with drinks.


    ''Do you drink alcohol?'' asked the man.


    This time, Avia decided to speak as well. ''Not on a job.''


    ''Your voice is different from what I had expected. I had expected an American accent, but this is... what is it called again... north European...?''


    ''Scandinavian.''


    ''Yes, that.''


    The microwave beeped. Dinner was ready. The man gave Avia a "spork"; a piece of hard plastic cutlery which was a spoon on one end and fork on the other. It was a popular item used for camping and adventuring, and generally useful and compact. The man opened the heated pack of food and compressed it a bit so that the opening became wider. It smelled of beef and potato mash, actually merging into a reasonably nice scent for Avia to enjoy after the long trip. After having put his own food into the microwave as well, the man took another bottle of water from the fridge and placed it on the edge of the trunk.


    ''Here. If you don''t want alcohol, then I don''t have anything else.''


    Avia smiled and nodded in gratitude.


    ''So, what do I call you?'' asked the man.


    ''You can call me Jane. What about you?''


    ''You can call me Henry.''


    ''Henry? Damn, they should at least try to make these names believable.''


    Henry laughed. ''Yeah, a Henry from Ghana and a Jane from Scandinavia.''


    After dinner, Henry prepared a descent sleeping spot. The passenger seat was tilted backwards, and space was made in the trunk. Avia chose the passenger seat and received a soft blanket to warm her body in Ghana''s cold night. Avia knew about the difference in temperature between day and night, but it had still impacted her the night before this one.


    Henry didn''t snore loud. Only during his exhale did he make a sound which could be confused with the breezing of a horse. Not a loud snore, but a soothing one, as if there was less pressure on his breath than on the breath of other''s. Avia lay awake, thinking about tomorrow.


    A war criminal. This operation wasn''t her first whereby a war criminal was the target, but this had a different tone to it all. All of her assassinations had been in Europe. This one was in a war-ravaged country in West-Africa.


    She didn''t like the fact that there was no connection at all with the contractor. She hadn''t even heard the person''s voice. For all she knew, she was killing the heroes instead of the criminals, and these people had only made the better decisions. Or they could be innocent business men or men of power, non-deserving death. However, the pay was more than enough to keep those thoughts away. No contact with any of the targets, no conversation. No witnesses or bystanders, innocent or not. The technology used for these operations was top secret as well, and only entrusted to a select group of people around the globe. There were only 50 operatives in total, and she was one of them.


    Selected by experience at first, and then trained to be the ultimate assassins. The technology helped a lot, made things incredibly easy and simple, but if the operation were to escalate, they had to have a certain skill set for the right tactics, and know which tactics to apply to a chaotic situation. Avia had been a lot of things, especially for her age. Instead of staying in one job and settling down, she was always on the move within the ranks of society, always reaching for the higher ledge. She hadn''t fallen yet, and she seemed to be close to the top by now. This job was good, for at least the next 10 years. Maybe when she would be in her 40''s, she''d retire and go into something calmer.


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    Of course, she would take a risk at that point. She would have to cut herself loose entirely and leave nothing to be found. Not a word either, written or spoken, about the organisation. They''d know if she was even planning to leak information. They''d eliminate the threat before it escalates to something bigger and wider. But why would someone want to bring down this organisation in the first place. It''s a perfect machine. Perfectly designed, efficient, and smoothly oiled. Why break it, or disable it? There was no reason to.


    After a breakfast of cooled fruit, they continued the journey to Tamale, after which they''d take the R109 in a western direction. They passed small villages and crossed a small river, and arrived in the city.


    ''Want to stop and have a look around, or go straight through?'' asked Henry.


    ''Just straight through, I''m not one for sightseeing, especially not slums,'' Avia answered.


    Henry nodded silently and put his focus back on the road. They had arrived in Tamale earlier than scheduled, but the R109 would probably take some of the extra time off. War had done the country no good at all, and the smaller roads suffered under the financial exhaustion. With no more maintenance, they became harder and harder to drive on. If they hadn''t had a jeep, it would have probably taken even longer than it already did. The vehicle was sturdy and yet very flexible to terrain.


    In the evening hours, they arrived at the meeting spot. Henry stayed with Avia until the first other jeep arrived at 1:50. The second jeep arrived 5 minutes later. Henry and the other two drivers then took off without goodbyes and left the three operatives on their own. They were two white men, one with short brown hair, and the other with longer blond hair. She couldn''t see much other details because of the darkness.


    One of them carried a suitcase. ''Right, so let''s start with introductions. I''m Mark.''


    ''I''m Jason.''


    ''And I''m Jane.''


    ''Alright, Jason, Jane, I''ve been to the local supplier to get the technological equipment needed for this operation,'' said Mark.


    ''And of course, we each have our own gun?'' added Jason, to which everyone nodded.


    ''Good, what about other gear?'' asked Avia.


    Jason threw his backpack off his shoulders. ''Four large bottles of water, should be more than enough to get there and back and a large first aid kit.''


    ''Nice one,'' remarked Avia.


    Mark opened the large suitcase. He took three cloak-suits from it. He handed one to Avia and the other to Jason. ''Let''s get changed.''


    The suits weren''t made on size. They started from S, and sensed the pressure the operative applied in the process of putting it on. It started with the pants and then the top. Also the shoes and finally the mask and hood. Then, everything was zipped up to each other to become one whole. The suit had to be fitted tightly for the cloak to work properly, otherwise the distortion would be too noticeable. When all three operatives had dressed up and helped each other zipping the suits up, it was time for a test. They stood in a circle and all pressed the button in the palm of the right glove. The two men faded in front of her, and especially in the darkness, they had become entirely invisible. ''Yeah,'' said all three operatives simultaneously, as confirmation that each other''s cloaks worked.


    Avia pressed the button again as the two men also faded back into vision.


    ''Okay, for the next piece of equipment, we need to check our marksmanship points. The best marksman gets it,'' said Mark.


    ''Sniper rifle?'' asked Avia.


    Mark nodded.


    The three operatives took the documents from their bags, in which a score chart from the trainings was included. Avia was the best marksman of the three, as it seemed. She took the sniper rifle, and Mark and Jason took normal rifles. Mark then closed the suitcase and threw it into the nearby shrubs. They went west, embarking on a long hike to their position for the ambush planned at 9:34.


    They arrived somewhat 90 minutes early. There was a nice position on a large rock, where Avia set herself up. They drank a lot of water to stay hydrated. Come 9:20, they turned on their suits, disappearing into nothing. They did a quick communication test. There were built-in comms for the suits, which in addition muted any sound coming from it. In this manner, the operatives could speak to each other whilst remaining silent for anyone else. At 9:32, Avia took hold of her rifle, which cloaked when it came in contact with both gloves, and readied herself.


    At 9:33, the sound of an engine faded into the silent air. The three operatives awaited the arrival of their target patiently. At 9:34, the jeep came into vision. It drove slowly, carefully, through the shrubs, clearly drifted off the road and looking for something else in this area. It was somewhat 200 meters away from their position. An easy target, definitely for a powerful sniper rifle such as this one. A machine gun was mounted on its roof, and an eager-looking man stood behind it.


    ''I''d advise you to take the gunner first, driver second,'' said Jason. He had taken up position south of Avia, in a tree, acting as a spotter. Mark had taken up an advanced position, 50 meters to the west and closer to the jeep.


    ''Copy that,'' replied Avia. The windshield was tinted with brown dirt and dust. The sun shone on it, making it impossible for Avia to see the inside of the car.


    The jeep now turned more towards them. Before it came closer, Avia calmly aimed for the gunner, who was an easy target, and pulled the trigger without hesitation. A spray of blood shot up violently from the man''s head. It was bright red in the morning light and contrasted dramatically with the green vegetation. Avia quickly aimed for the windshield. She needed to act fast, but in the adrenaline-packed moment, she had forgotten on which side of the car the driver sat. She had to gamble. Time was running out. She needed to act quickly, before the driver was able to increase speed or try to evade. She pulled the trigger, gambling a shot, risking the operation. The other operatives stood ready to take control of the situation with their automatic rifles if it had to come to that.


    The windshield became glistening white with cracks and Avia heard the vehicle''s engine rev loudly and uncontrolled. She had made the correct guess. The jeep turned away from Avia''s position as the dead driver no longer controlled steering nor speed. It hit a protruding rock with great momentum and at such an angle that it flipped loudly onto its side. Avia saw two people get launched from the back of the jeep. One landed onto the knee, crushing it immediately, after which the head came in contact with a rock. The other had a worse fall, spinning wildly through the air and rolling across every limb violently before coming to a halt on the ground.


    ''Let''s go, check out the situation,'' said Mark.


    Avia got up quickly and jumped from the rock onto the overgrown ground. She waded through the leafs and made her way to the sight of the crash.


    ''Jane, I can see you wading through the leafs, I''m coming to your left side,'' said Jason.


    ''Waiting 5 metres to the left of the wreckage,'' said Mark.


    Avia got to the wreckage and walked up to the person who had fallen the worst. She was shocked at what she found there. It was just a girl. Maybe in her early twenties. From what it looked like, she had a broken leg, dislocated shoulder, broken collar bone and broken wrist. She looked around. Clearly she heard the footsteps. Avia pressed the button, deactivating the cloak.


    ''Jane, what are you doing?'' asked Mark with a certain tense tone in his voice.


    ''I''m not killing these people without showing myself,'' Avia replied calmly. ''I''m not letting them be killed by invisible ghosts.'' It was silent for a second.


    ''She''s right, these tribesmen deserve some kind of respect, I suppose,'' said Jason.


    Avia heard the two men deactivate their cloaks behind her. A loud voice sounded from the wreckage. Before the operatives could turn towards it, an echoing gunshot cracked through the warm and humid air. Mark staggered and cursed.


    ''Fucking arsehole! Hit me in the shoulder!''


    ''Good thing these suits are bulletproof, huh?'' remarked Jason.


    ''I''ll still have to get it checked later.''


    Mark took the rifle in one hand and grabbed his handgun with the other.


    ''Time to clean up the scene and identify one of these as Rasdo.''


    The girl in front of Avia gasped loudly as Mark went to the wreckage to execute the shooter, who had climbed out of the passenger seat through the windshield and lay in the grass now.


    ''I''m going to set a perimeter up 20 metres from here,'' said Jason. He turned away and reactivated his cloak.


    Avia had to clean this up. This girl was in pain anyways, so it made her feel somewhat better that she was putting the girl out of her misery. She took the heavy sniper rifle in one hand and grabbed her handgun. The man from the jeep shouted. She lifted the weapon and aligned it with the girl''s head. A gunshot sounded. Mark had finished him. Avia felt so sorry for this girl, who had clearly nothing to do with Rasdo, but had just been caught into all of this. She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. She opened them again. The girl lay with her head back, blood dripping tiredly from the hole in her forehead.


    Avia stepped over her corpse to go to the other person, who had had a relatively soft landing. A woman this time, a lot older than the girl, and she had just awoken from unconsciousness. She screamed loudly at the sight of Avia. She tried to get up, but her knee gave in. She then grabbed the handgun on her belt. Avia reacted swiftly. First a shot into the chest. The woman fell backwards, crying and groaning in pain.


    Avia noticed that her fingers still pried for the gun. When she took it from her belt and lifted it towards Avia, Avia released another shot. This time, the hand which held the gun. With a splatter of blood, the woman''s fingers either broke or were torn off completely by the force of the projectile. The woman shrieked loudly, clasping her destroyed hand with the other. Avia stood at her feet and aimed for the head. A final shot cracked.


    ''Target eliminated, Rasdo was the driver,'' reported Mark. ''How''s the perimeter?''


    ''Looking good, no-one else around these parts, I guess,'' replied Jason.


    ''And the remaining survivors?'' asked Mark.


    ''None remaining,'' reported Avia.


    ''Good. Operation successful. Let''s head back to Daboya.''

 14. Carpe Noctem

    Chapter 14


    Nick


    15-12-2019


    6 hours after Chapter 11


    Nick opened his eyes and looked straight into a fierce light. He groaned and closed his burning eyes again. He tried to set his mind straight, including the memories of what felt like the last few hours. A jab in his neck. Injection. Moonlight fading, inaudible voices, and then this. Here. Whatever this was. Humid, cold. Except for the fierce light, the room was dark. Nick couldn''t see how large the chamber was, as he couldn''t see what was behind the lamp. The light dimmed, not enough to make the rest of the room visible, but just enough to give Nick''s eyes a bit more rest.


    ''I would like to know your name,'' said a low, raspy voice, coming from the darkness behind the light. ''A name, so that I can address you properly.''


    Nick tried to look past the light once more, but still remained blind. The stone walls around Nick were riddled with green mould. The humidity had done its job, allowing fungus to grow and multiply along the small spaces between the barren red bricks.


    ''Your name. Please.''


    ''Nick.''


    Was this a mistake? What if this the first step to allow whoever it was behind the light to manipulate his mind?


    ''Nicholas... it''s a nice name.''


    The last time Nick heard his full name, it had been said by his mother. She had always used his full name to show that she was serious or angry about something.


    ''Tell me, Nicholas. Based on what you are seeing, can you tell me where you are?''


    ''We''re underground.''


    ''How do you know that for sure?''


    ''The air is thick.''


    Nick heard the man grin. The light switched off and a machine started to rattle loudly. Metal screeched, and bright sunlight started to seep into the room, forming the people in front of Nick into cold, anonymous silhouettes. Nick was glad to feel the fresh air again.


    ''Your observation was correct. Your conclusion, however, not so much.''


    As some of the people standing in front Nick turned and walked into the sunlight, he could see them as more as silhouettes. They were ordinary people, just as he was. Men and women who raised their hands above their heads to avoid being blinded by the sun.


    ''Nicholas, we are regular people; not the maniacs for whom you saw us at first,'' said the man. He walked up to Nick and rested his hand on one of Nick''s shackles, which had been tightened around his wrist in order to restrain any wild move.


    ''I want to let you go, and I want to talk to you about important matters, but I''ll need to be able to consider you as an ally first. A man is only as good as his word, and therefore, I only ask of you to promise me, that you do not do anything stupid when I release you from these chains.''


    Nick nodded slowly, still on his guard for the unexpected, but also submitting.


    ''Yes, I promise.''


    Nick heard a click. The shackle fell off his left wrist. The man then stepped behind Nick and loosened the right shackle as well. Nick rubbed his painful wrists and stood up. He turned to the man. The sunlight shone upon his face. He was old, something between the sixties and seventies, but didn''t look frail yet. His face was still ambient with life, and carried the look of ambition.


    ''Come, let me bring you to the room where we stored all of your possessions,'' said the man. Nick followed him out of the building, which turned out to be a house, and led him onto the street. The people there stared after Nick as he walked by. It grew a little on his nerves.


    ''Why are they staring at me?''


    ''Because you''ve given us hope.''


    Nick stopped walking, and looked the man in the eye.


    ''Hope?''


    ''Come on, let''s talk when we get there and return your things.''


    Nick and the old man waited for the guy who would return his things, standing at the counter of the bar in the empty pub down the road.


    ''Oh, by the way, you know my name now, but I don''t know yours. If I am going to cooperate with you, I''ll need a name.''


    The man looked at Nick for a second, then nodded.


    ''My name is Florian.''


    ''How big is your group? What parts of this area do you use, or possess?''


    ''Good question. We mainly use this street and its buildings for everything we do. This pub is open in the evening. We have a supply dump up the road, and the house which you woke up in is a residency home for children.''


    ''You decided to place a prisoner in the garage of a children''s home?''


    ''Well, we didn''t have many other options, as we''re... well, let''s just say, we''re a little divided in two groups.''


    ''Hmm? What, like a civil war or something?''


    ''Nah, just a bit like two different classes. Let''s just be clear that I still have full leadership. My word is law.''


    ''Tell me about the "classes".''


    ''Well... hm... how do I explain this... first off, we have this street. The people are reasonable, civil, we take care of the children and try to find useful people, like yourself, along the way, and ask them to join us. Then, there is the "lower" class. They''re a little wilder than us, and a bit more reckless, and less civil.''


    ''And they''re led by this Flox guy? I heard his name come up when your little hunting party captured me.''


    ''Who? Oh... yes, their leader is Flox, but he still answers to me. That''s why you''re here. If I hadn''t stepped in, you would have ended up like the other poor sod, whom they captured as well.''


    ''Oh, what happened to him?''


    The man barged through the door and put the box on the counter.


    Florian turned to the box.


    ''Ah, your possessions. We just took everything you had on you and in your backpack and put it all in here.''


    Florian opened the box and the man behind the counter returned to the back. Nick and Florian then both proceeded to take everything out of the box and lay it out on the table.


    ''You really kept all of my stuff. Why ask me for your help when you can just blackmail me instead?''


    Florian frowned at Nick''s question, and as they grabbed the small boxes of pills and other utilities and threw it all in Nick''s backpack, he answered.


    ''Are you familiar with the classical times, Nick?''


    ''Romans and Greeks? Not in particular, no.''


    ''There is a famous philosopher; Socrates. I believe you will have heard of him.''


    Nick nodded.


    ''Socrates had an amount of students. One of them was named Xenophon. He was a soldier, a mercenary, a military man. He also wrote about the characters of different generals and rulers in different historical accounts. There''s a quote, which says "Willed obedience always beats forced obedience." And that is why I''d rather have you brought to our side willingly, than blackmail you with all of your items.''


    ''All of this Latin and Greek, and Classical stuff, is it common in your group? One of your men had an inscription on his mask. Carpe Noctem?''


    ''Ah yes, it''s taken from Carpe Diem, a quote from Horace, a Latin poet. Instead of the "Seize the day", it means "Seize the night". A silly pun. But yes, our group is traversing through a Renaissance. We use the wisdom of the Classical Age to our benefit, as we once did. It''s necessary in times of chaos, like these.''


    Nick lastly grabbed the radio and placed it at the top of the backpack, before zipping it up and throwing it on his shoulder.


    ''Your items will be another thing to talk about. Come, let''s go to my little office, then we can talk about everything there is to talk about.''


    They walked up the icy road, into a large, worn building. Florian''s office was more of a bedroom with a desk, one chair on each side. There was a dirty bed in the corner of the room and a small nightstand with a lamp. Florian flicked on the light.


    ''You have electricity?''


    ''We''ve connected different generators in the area to concentrate electricity into this street. At night, we even have some street lights which still work. This was one of the first parts of London to adopt green energy, so there''s solar panels and small windmills on the roofs, which we can also use.''


    Nick dropped his backpack and grabbed his iPod.


    ''You think that you can charge this?''


    ''You have a cord? I think we might have a few chargers lying around.''


    ''Yeah, of course.''


    Nick was about to start digging in his backpack, but Florian stopped him.


    ''I want to talk first.''


    Nick looked at him and nodded, as he dropped back into his creaky wooden chair.


    ''What is it you''d like to talk about?''


    ''Well, as I said earlier, you give the people on that street hope. Look at your things. Pills with vitamins, protein, all of the other crap that you need to survive, plenty of drinking water, batteries. A goddamn crossbow. A portable radio, set to a fixed frequency, marked with a blue stripe. Be honest with me, Nicholas, you are not from here.''


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Florian''s eyes were fixed on Nick''s. There was a tense silence between the two men, as Florian anxiously awaited an answer.


    ''Florian, I''m sorry to disappoint you. I''m just another survivor. These pills are scavenged from a pharmacy, the batteries too. The radio is marked from before all this. I''m not what you think I am. I''m not a saviour for your people.''


    Florian covered his face with his hands, and let out a deep, defeated sigh. Stress was clearly a large factor in this man''s daily life. Nick felt sorry for him. Florian stood up and walked to the corner of the room.


    ''A small country cannot contend with a great country.''


    He turned and looked at Nick.


    ''The few cannot contend with the many.''


    He reached for the back of his pants.


    ''The weak cannot contend with the strong.''


    He pulled out a gun and pointed it at Nick. With that, this situation changed drastically in Nick''s mind.


    ''Our cooperation would have lasted, but now I realise that you are of no use to me. You''re just another mouth to feed, and we cannot have that. I could, however, use your things for the good of this community. That doesn''t require you in the picture,'' said Florian with a cold voice.


    Nick raised his hands. He needed to improvise. Fast.


    ''Okay! Okay. I''ll help you. I''m not gonna waste my own life for this stupid operation anyways,'' he said.


    Florian frowned.


    ''I''m on a mission to reach Downing Street. 10 Downing Street. I need to retrieve the original emergency protocols.''


    Florian lowered his gun. ''Do you have an extraction planned?''


    ''That would attract too much attention.''


    ''So what then?''


    ''I go to the wall. There, they let me back through.''


    Florian nodded.


    ''Then we do that. Contact your man. You will lead us through the wall, and into freedom.''


    Nick nodded, thinking only about the next-level shit he just got himself into.


    ''However, before we go to work, I''m going to show you who your allies are,'' said Florian. The nice old man whom Nick had got to know, had disappeared.


    Florian gave Nick a room, which wasn''t even all that bad. Nick had slept in many worse places. He flicked on the radio, waited for the static to lower and then spoke into the mic.


    ''Rory? Rory? Come on, it''s urgent. I need you, man.''


    Two seconds later, which had been the fastest time there had ever been a reply, Rory''s voice sounded.


    ''Oh man, you''re still alive? Where are you? Are you still in their camp?''


    ''Yeah. Listen, Rory, please tell me that you''ve been working on something to get the hell out of this city.''


    ''Uhm... maybe. Why do you ask?''


    ''The only reason I''m talking to you now, is because I''ve told these people that I can get them out.''


    ''You what!? Are you mad?''


    ''I was looking into the end of a barrel, alright? I needed something.''


    ''Alright Nick, tell me everything.''


    Nick told Rory the entire story about Florian and the group of people, Flox and his Burners, the area and the community.


    ''Wow... alright. Tell them that they need more people. A lot more people. Tell them to go out recruiting and saving people, and that they''re going to have to wait.''


    ''What are you working on, Rory?''


    ''I''m working on a glitch. At least, I''m observing one. A tiny glitch in the coding compatibility of the targeting systems in turrets on the wall.''


    ''Well, I don''t really know what that means. How much time do you need to make it work?''


    ''Uhm, well, maybe, if everything goes well, 3 years.''


    Nick couldn''t believe what he heard. In him too, hope had sparked, as he had been talking to Rory. Now, it had been dimmed again.


    ''3 years? Fucking hell.''


    ''Yeah.''


    When Nick opened the door of his room, he saw Florian standing against the wall down the hall.


    ''And?''


    ''You''re going to need more men. More people. Lots more.''


    ''Where do you expect to find them? This city is dead.''


    ''We''ll have to round up everyone. Look everywhere. Make everyone join our cause.''


    ''Some people out there enjoy this side of that wall.''


    ''I know. I do too. And yet here I am, helping you.''


    ''At gunpoint, yes.''


    ''What was it you wanted to show me? Something about my allies?''


    ''We''re going to a little party.''


    The sun had just descended beyond the horizon. The last orange colours remained in the sky, but darkness was already consuming the air. They walked up the street. Nick had the first opportunity to read the street name. Pratt Street. Where the hell was this? As they walked further up, crossing an intersection, Nick started to hear drums, and loud rock music. They crossed into another street. Camden street. This was Camden. Nick noticed that all of it was empty. All of the people were at the party, then. The music became louder and louder as they closed in to the party. Behind a small iron fence with a broken gate, there was a large patch of icy grass and a few trunks of chopped trees, lots of people surrounding a large fire, dancing wildly on the fast-paced music. The grass faced a house. There were all sorts of people. Men, women and children, both looking savage and civil, everyone was there. Nick looked out for the man they named Flox, maybe standing somewhere on a podium of sorts.


    People played drums around the fire, pacing up with the music. Some looked almost tribal. There were people with mohawk hairstyles and tribal war paint on their faces, sticking out their tongues at others as they jumped around and danced wildly.


    Florian turned to Nick. ''You wondered what happened to the other man, who was taken on the same night as you were.''


    Nick nodded, still observing all of the chaos on the grass.


    ''In this community, we suffer from two shortages.''


    Nick watched as two men extended a pole from the roof of the house which faced the grass.


    ''To sate both shortages, we hold these parties.''


    They tied a rope to the pole and tightened it carefully as the chaos and fun and noise down below never decreased. Children hopped happily around with the adults, and parents carried them on their shoulders.


    ''One shortage is entertainment. To keep the peace, the people here need to be happy. To achieve that, we must entertain. We must give their minds some relaxation, a chance to let it all out.''


    The crowd of at least 100 people started to cheer loudly, as the two guys on the roof raised their hands and punched the air. Everyone was in a state of ecstasy.


    ''The other shortage is food. The people here would starve to death, if we could not provide them sometimes, with enough to fill their stomachs.'' The bonfire roared loudly. The people cheered and clapped as plastic plates and forks and knives were thrown down on them from the rooftop. They caught them with greed. Nick''s eyes widened. The children and adults danced with their plates and forks and knives, as a man who was tied to the rope was put on the edge of the roof.


    ''My name is Florian Lox. I am the leader of this community, and I will do whatever is necessary to keep it alive. This is what happens to the people who are of no use to us.''


    The man got a rope tied around his neck. With a scream, he was pushed off the edge. As he reached the end of the rope, the force of the fall broke his neck. His twitching body hung above the bonfire. A standing ladder on wheels was pushed through the crowd like a parading spectacle, decorated with colourful lights. Florian had a large grin on his face as he walked away and left Nick at the entrance. Moments later, as the ladder approached the hanging and burning corpse of the man, Florian''s voice was heard through loud speakers.


    ''Are you hungry!?'' sounded his raspy voice, with a certain unleashed wildness in his tone.


    The people, child and adult alike, cheered loudly. ''Yes!!''


    ''Are you vegetarian!?''


    ''No!!''


    ''Then we have just the meal for you!!''


    They cheered and clapped as a man climbed up the ladder to the corpse with a large butcher''s knife. He jabbed the corpse into its leg, and the boiling, cooking blood dripped out.


    ''We''ve got gravy!''


    The crowd laughed and held up their plates.


    ''Don''t fight for it, there is enough for everyone! What do we say!?''


    ''Fighting leads to waste!'' cheered the crowd. As the man started to carve into the man''s body, ripped off chunks of flesh and threw them into the crowd, Nick turned away from the horror. He walked back to his room in one of the many houses in the street. He was hungry, but he believed he''d never be hungry enough to eat a piece of that.