No-Man's Land Ch. 00-01

Prologue

The world is gone, devastated by a mutated strain of the Common Cold that has wiped out approximately 78% of the world's population. Few survived, and those who did have a new world to contend with. Law and Order has collapsed, governments have fallen, and survivors band together for their survival. Race, Ethnicity and Faith are no longer barriers as people from all walks of life and society have joined together to survive the aftermath of the virus. But other groups have formed, the world is now governed by those with the power, weapons and the means to take control.

Survival is all that matters now.

Chapter One

It was dawn, the morning light shone through the dark, heavy curtains. Almost a fortnight had passed since the the collapse of law and order in the streets of the capital; London. Chaos and panic followed the outbreak of the mutated Common Cold, the government collapsed days earlier, as rumors circulated that the SAS (Special Air Service) and British Army escort had turned against what remained of the Cabinet en route to an underground military bunker near Carlisle.

Michael awoke feeling the morning light sting his eyes, and sat up in the bed. There was no electricity any more, other than in mobile battery form. He had made sure in the early days of the crisis to stockpile batteries, basic supplies well in advance fearing the worst. Sitting up on his bed, he rubbed his thick beard. Standing up from the bed he stretched, grabbing a pair of military forest camouflage combats from the floor. He pulled on a black t-shirt, and his hunting webbing.

He took these from a hunting and outdoor shop, along with dozens of hunting knives, and gas camping stoves that he used to cook his meals. He had also taken a dozen crossbows, and dozens of packs of steel and wood bolts.

Heaving the heavy hunter's crossbow in his arms, he checked that it was loaded with a bolt. His routine every morning since the epidemic was the same; he would use a small amount of bottled water to clean his face, and wash himself with disinfectant wipes in order to conserve water, he wanted to use minimal water for his own sake. He did boil a pot of water on the stove, and have a cup of tea and some porridge.

Then he would head out with his rucksack and scavenge for whatever he could find of use, and that routine was the same now for days. He had an abundance of alcohol stockpiled including whiskey, vodka, brandy and others from stores and off-licenses. He drank to help him sleep at night, but he could also use it as currency with others for trade as well as a disinfectant along with tobacco and cigarettes.

One morning, the city was eerily silent as Michael trained using makeshift plywood targets to practice with his crossbow. He ate from a box of cornflakes by hand, it was nutritional and light. It meant he wasn't opening his canned foods. Yanking, and pulling free the bolt embedded in it's target he heard a piercing scream from outside his council estate, on the other side of the boarded up gate. He reloaded his weapon and pressed himself into the gate, peering through the slits he could see two young women running along the street, pursued by several armed men.

The two young black women ran from the men behind them; some armed with knives, and even make-shift spears. Michael summed up the situation in his mind as quickly as he could; he was outnumbered, but he could ambush the men when there was chance. He flung a satchel of bolts over his shoulder, before he turned and picked up a Molotov cocktail from a box of a dozen bottles.

As the men chased the terrified women, he peered through the slits of the barricaded gate and took a deep breath before lighting the rag. Charging out through the barricaded gate, he threw the petrol bomb landing between a trio of men setting them ablaze in flames. They spread out screaming, burning and collapsing in the street.

Michael fired off a bolt, hitting one of the five men remaining square on the forehead, puncturing the brain killing him instantly.

"Stay down girls!" He shouted at the two women who were holding one another, panicking. They noticed his Irish accent.

He moved quickly between parked cars, loading a fresh bolt he peered out from his cover. One down, four to go he thought to himself. Leaning over the bonnet of the car he saw a man wearing a thick leather coat, and dirty jeans with a spear in his hand moving towards the girls. He fired off the bolt, striking his chest with the force of a hammer throwing him into a car where he landed with a thud.

"Bastards!" Michael growled, loading another bolt from his satchel.

Three left.

He kept the number in his mind, he knew he had to move fast. Peering over the car once again, he saw another man skinny, wearing what looked to be a dirty denim coat, and jeans wielding a cleaver. He was moving dangerously closer to the girls, and Michael fired off the crossbow again. The bolt landed on the man's upper thigh, spearing him. He fell backwards on the road, screaming in pain as the bolt jutted out from his leg.

"Two, keep moving." He told himself.

Another bolt loaded, he peered over the car and was suddenly taken by surprise by one of the armed men who leapt over the car at him.

They fell onto the road, fighting and wrestling they rolled on and swung for one another. Michael dropped his crossbow, and struggled as the man began to strangle him. He looked to his side, and saw the last man approach the girls with a large kitchen knife eyeing them up hungrily.

"Cunt!" The man grabbed, pressing the knife in his hand perilously at Michael's throat.

The girls fought back, kicking at the man approaching them. They were panicking, as James felt the life leaving his body. He took a moment and unsheathed his large hunting knife, and looking in bleary, blurred vision he threw it across the road at the girls to use before turning back.

Alesha was the oldest, the other girl Becky her younger sister. Alesha was twenty-seven, and Becky eighteen before the epidemic hit. The pair of them had long black dreadlocks that touched their shoulders, both had brown hazel eyes and dark chocolate skin. But the pair was distinguishable; Alesha was wise, but reserved as the older sister while Becky was wild, and more prone to saying and doing as she felt. Never taking shit from anyone, just like her sister but perhaps in a brasher way.

Michael's knife landed close near Alesha, and looking at it she fought her natural, biological fear and anxiety but she had never used a blade in a fight. She looked up at Michael struggling with one of the men, and the last coming closer with his own knife.

But suddenly it was Becky's hand that grabbed the knife and she moved fast, plunging the knife into the man's chest, and pushed him away. He fell with a loud thud on the road dead.

Michael could feel he was close to passing out unconscious, as the man strangled him. Alesha watched her younger sister, just eighteen years old run over to Michael and quickly knife the man on top of him in the neck. There was a splutter of blood that coated the pair of them, before the man toppled from Michael dying on the road. He bled out on the road, as Michael rolled onto his knees and stood slowly coughing out of breath. "Th-tha-thank you." He coughed to Becky, holding his throat as regained his breathing.

But he now noticed she was quiet, silent as she looked down at the man she had killed who was strangling Michael. He knew what she was going through; she had never killed before, not until today. He had. Now her hands were bloody, as Michael's own were

She was shaking, holding her arms in clear discomfort before suddenly breaking down into tears. He moved over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Hey, don't second guess what you did lass. You saved me, that bastard would have killed me if you hadn't and the cunt--." He said with a wave of his hand to the man who she had stabbed in the chest, who lay dead on the road.

"We both know what he was going to do to you both, and that's it." He told the young girl.

Alesha watched, and quickly moved over to her sister and the stranger who had stepped in to help them.

He looked up at Alesha, and nodded. "Am' Michael." He told her.

Alesha nodded and smiled as best as she could, given the circumstances. "I'm Alesha, this is my sister Becky." He said leaning down to place her hand on her younger sister's shoulder.

He nodded, his face and her sister Becky's face were smeared with blood, he wiped his away and nodded moving away to allow Alesha to console her sister.

He took a pair of keys from his pocket, and handed them to Alesha. "Take her up to flat eight, that's my place. The door is open, I'll be up soon." He told her, hoping she trusted him.

Alesha nodded, taking a deep breath. "What about you?" She asked him.

He looked at the bodies strewn across the road, his making and two of Becky's own. "I'll burn the bodies, we need to stop the spread of disease and they'll bring rats if we don't burn them." He told her.

She knew he had done this before, it was clear on his face. He was survivor, he had killed and he had known what Becky had felt after her first, and then second kill in her life.

Alesha nodded and steered Becky towards the housing estate, through it's barricaded gate and up into Michael's building. In the apartment she sat Becky down on the couch in the lounge, and looked out from the balcony to see Michael in the street below.

He was collecting the weapons from the dead, and anything else of use or value from their pockets. She felt nothing, they deserved nothing more than this; they were going to rape them, and maybe worse when they became bored of them. Burning their bodies was a blessing for them, she wished the rats did feed on them.

At twenty-seven years old Alesha had been a teacher in a primary school in West London prior to the outbreak, and her sister was preparing for College when the virus hit. Now they were survivors, her younger sister had killed two men in self-defense and to save Michael's life. Life had changed so very fast, for them both.

She watched Michael, he looked young in his own late twenties. She wondered why he had helped them both, what his reasoning was, and if he could be trusted. After he had finished looting the dead he torched the pile of corpses.

The bodies burned, and Michael used his hand to shield the smell of burning flesh from his nose. He returned with several knives, three makeshift spears, and even a heavy fire axe that one of the men carried. He found a box of matches, two packets of cigarettes and even a small flask of alcohol. As he closed the gate behind him, he sniffed the flask and smelt what he knew to be whiskey. He took a heavy swig of the whiskey, and then another grimacing feeling the strong taste of good alcohol. He smiled to himself, taking another swig he felt his stomach warm up, and it helped put to the back of his mind the depression he felt from killing, and surviving.

Entering his apartment, he closed the door behind him and put away the loot. He entered the lounge, and saw Becky sitting in silence on his couch, while Alesha looked at him. The sisters dressed differently, the day of the virus hitting they still wore the very same clothes. Alesha was dressed in jeans, and a simple brown blouse now dirty; while Becky wore a pair of heavy black Grunge, or heavy metal inspired jeans and a dirty, but wearable black t-shirt of her favorite music band. They were both different, both unique.

Michael spoke up. "If you're both hungry, I'll cook you some grub." He told Alesha handing him the lighter from his pocket. "Can yer' light the candles for me, Alesha?" He asked her, as she saw the many dozens of candles scattered around the room and now realized it was getting dark outside. They needed light, and the candles were that.

She nodded and went to light the candles, as Michael went into the kitchen. Alesha worried about Becky, who seemed to simply stare at the wall in silence. She had never killed or hurt anyone before, and she couldn't imagine what her baby sister was feeling having killed to protect them all.

Alesha finished lighting the candles in the lounge, now illuminating the room in a warm, gentle glow. But it only helped for her to see her sister's distant distress, and she went to see Michael in the kitchen. Leaning over a camping stove, he was cooking a tin of Macaroni Cheese, and a tin of Spaghetti on the stove. She noticed how prepared Michael was, noticing dozens of bottles of water in the corner, as well as many bottles of alcohol.

"You were prepared for this." Alesha said giving Michael an awkward, but warm, friendly smile.

He turned to her, his beard a dark, brown copper color. He looked seasoned, a rough but warm face. He too had hazel eyes like herself, and Becky.

"No, honestly I just grabbed everything in those early hours, and days." He told her with a friendly, warm smile as he stirred the two pots of food.

He noticed her lick her lips, watching the food cooking away on the stove.

"You haven't eaten in a while, you and your sister?" He asked her.

She nodded, eyeing up the food. Michael wanted to make something clear to Alesha, that she could tell Becky if need be. "Alesha, I'm not going to ask for shit from you for the food or anything. I didn't help you for any other reason than to help you both, The food is yours, I'm not taking it away or anything. Trust me." He told her stirring the food.

She looked up into his face, weighing up the situation; he had stepped in to help her and her sister. Now he was feeding them, she had to admit even to herself she feared if this all came with a cost that some men had offered them in the early days of the virus. Help and assistance; for a price.

Alesha smiled up at him, and nodded. "Thank you." She said.

Michael stopped stirring the food, and turned off the stove. Both pots were steaming in heat, and it was ready to serve. He poured both pots into a bowl each, and she looked at them never so hungry in her life as now.

"Which one do you want, and the one for your sister?" He asked her nodding at the bowls of steaming food.

Alesha loved Macaroni Cheese since childhood, and she remembered her sister loved Spaghetti. Smiling she spoke. "Macaroni Cheese for me, Spaghetti for my sister." She said and he gave her the bowls carefully, hoping not to burn her.

She took the food into the lounge to Becky, who was quiet on the sofa. Becky's dreadlocks were longer, and even dyed purple in the tips, tied into pigtails. She sat up on the couch, her sneakers off and feet brought up. She was young, scared, and frightened of what she had done. Michael could see the dried tears in her soft eyes.

He let Alesha take Becky the food, and sat back to let the sisters have the moment. Sitting down in a char, he went to cleaning his crossbow as well as the steel bolts he had retrieved from the bodies he could use again. He wiped them clean of blood, and ready to use again.

Alesha did her best to get Becky to eat, and she did try eating most of her food. Michael stood, and spoke. "You can take the double-bed in the back room, you both can when you're ready. I'll take the couch." He told her and Becky, nodded and began to walk towards the room before she turned to Michael.

"Thank you." She said with a smile, and she disappeared into the bedroom closing the door behind her.

Michael turned to Alesha, who nodded in the only response she could give at watching her sister. She sat on the couch, and sighed as Michael seemed to return to cleaning the crossbow bolts, while sipping a bottle of beer at the side of the chair.

She broke the silence suddenly. "You've killed before, haven't you? Before today." She said awkwardly, as if worried how he'd react to her questioning.

Michael sat up in the chair, putting aside the bolt he was cleaning with a rag and bleach. Leaning down he retrieved a cigarette pack, and put one in his mouth, lighting it with another lighter. "Yeah, I have." He told her before offering the pack to her, and Alesha found herself taking one from him. She lit her cigarette with the lighter.

Sitting back, he took a swig from the flask of Whiskey he had taken from the dead. "I've only killed to survive, these people don't want to trade. They don't want to work together, survive with one another. They want to take everything they can from who they can."

Alesha smoked as she listened to him, his own cigarette was halfway done, and he took a heavy drag on it before another swig from the flask. Alesha absently turned to stare into the dark corridor of the apartment, at her sister's bedroom door. "You've gone through what she is going through, haven't you?" She asked, still watching the door absent-mindedly taking another puff of her cigarette.

He saw her watching the door, and nodded. "Yeah, first time I ever killed was the early days of the virus. People just wanting to kill you for the fun of it, rob you, take what you had. I put down a few in those days, and then since it's still the same; people wanting to take what you have. Not even trade, fuck not even wanting to talk. Just kill, I don't regret what I have done, and neither should she. We kill to survive, they give us no choice. We protect one another." He told her, taking another puff on the cigarette which was almost finished now.

Alesha looked at the flask in his hand, and the opened bottle of beer at his side in the chair. "Does it help?" She asked him, taking another small puff smoking.

Michael forced a smile, but even Alesha saw it was forced. "It helps me sleep, blocks out the dreams. The nightmares." He told her looking at the wall behind her, as if lost in thought.

"Why did you help us?" She asked, looking up at him.

Michael smiled. "Well Becky saved me too, I'd be dead if it were not for her." He said finishing his own cigarette, and stubbing it out in the ashtray nearby.

He handed her it to use, and sat back. "You still helped us, believe me we've not seen many men do that since this all started. Hell, not even before that." She said taking a deep draw on the cigarette, and he offered her the flask.

"I'm not most men." He told her, as she took the flask and trusting him she took a swig.

It was strong whiskey in her mind, and took another swig grimacing before smoking her cigarette. He took the flask back and another swig for himself, he'd have to refill it with his own reserve once it was empty. He had to admit, he'd take the flask with him now everywhere and in his mind; it was a spoil of war. They wanted a war, then it would be a war.

"You've survived here since it all started, on your own?" Alesha asked him.

He nodded. There was silence before Michael spoke again. "Were they the whole group that was chasing you Alesha, or only part of a larger group?" He asked her.

She remembered, there had been eight of them chasing her and Becky. They had been on their tail for hours after being spotted near the famous Chelsea football grounds, and they were forced to hide and run when they needed to.

"Only part, a bigger group not far from here. But those who chased us are dead, they don't know about you or this place. For now at least." Alesha answered him.

Michael nodded. "I'll have to deal with them soon." He told her finishing the flask of looted whiskey.

Alesha looked up at him. "What do you mean, deal with them?"

He sat up in the chair. "Kill them, Alesha. Before they come for us, before they send others after those we've killed. They'll come looking for those who've gone missing." He explained to her.

He was right, they wouldn't stop, there were groups all over the city just like them, even the country. Alesha nodded quietly, finishing her cigarette she stood slowly. "Well I should get to bed." She said stubbing out her cigarette.