Matt leaned down and picked up the small, hard body. With it held in a pinch, he admired its irrepressible little form. Armoured by nature, the militant little bastards had taken the run of London. Matt grimaced, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and bit its head clean off.
A bitter shot of… something twisted a spasm through his face. The crunch of the cockroach echoed inside his skull like he’d chewed down on a handful of sand. With a deep breath, he swallowed the sharp and gritty lumps before he looked at Scarlett and laughed a joyless laugh. “Looks like they were right.”
Scarlett’s mouth hung loose and she kept her eyes on the cockroach. Hunger had her firmly in its grip. “Huh?”
As if to highlight his point, Matt looked at the ruins that surrounded them; the scarred city had been reduced to nothing but a wasteland of destruction and desolation. It looked as if another blitz had hit the city like the one after the Second World War. Except now, decades later, there were no people left to rebuild it after the devastation. London had been reduced to a shipwreck that would be left to rot.
When he looked up, he met Scarlett’s eyes. Not that she had crow’s feet, but the tiniest lines drew away toward her temples. Impatience tightened her face. She looked at the half-eaten cockroach and said, “Who were right?”
“Oh,” Matt said, “sorry. Cockroaches… it looks like they were right about cockroaches, about them surviving the end of the world as we know it.”
The bitter taste of raw cockroach returned to Matt’s mouth. It rode on the back of a shot of acidic bile. A deep breath kept any more vomit at bay before he finally said, “Cockroaches and fucking politicians.”
When Matt held the bottom half of the cockroach out for his wife, Scarlett took it, closed her eyes, screwed her face up, and popped it into her mouth. Much like the only way to drink tequila involved lemons and salt, the only way to eat a cockroach involved a grimace and closed eyes.
Matt’s stomach turned as he watched her. To see someone—especially someone he loved like he loved his wife—eat the bug seemed much worse than eating it himself.
After Scarlett had finished, she said, “You always give me the bottom half.”
Matt shrugged his shoulders and looked away. “It’s no big deal.”
“But it is. It tastes so much better than the top half. It must be its brains that give it that bitter kick.”
A run of his tongue around the inside of his mouth gathered the sharp parts of the cockroach’s outer shell. He then swallowed them down; too much protein clung to the shell for him to spit it out. “I’d rather not put too much thought into what the horrible taste is.”
“Sorry. What I’m trying to say is that you should eat the bottom half more often. It’s not fair on you.”
After he’d waved the comment away, Matt looked around at the fallen buildings and littered streets. Even in the middle of the night, he could see the furniture that had spilled out from holes in the sides of the damaged houses. He saw children’s toys, crockery, televisions… all of the things that used to matter back in the days when a mortgage and a forty-hour week kept people on track. They still had a lot to go through to change this world for the better, but it would be worth it. A better time would come. All the pain and suffering would pay off; if not for them, then for Louise. And what other purpose should he serve than to gift his daughter a better world than the one he’d lived in?
Matt held his breath for a second before he said, “The streets are too quiet. I don’t trust it.”
Although she looked around them with wide eyes, Scarlett didn’t respond.
Matt removed one of the water bottles from the clip on his belt and took a swig. The muddy taste of rainwater washed away the remaining after-tang of the horrible bug. As he passed it to Scarlett, she stroked the back of his hand. Even in their current state of bare survival, her eyes glowed like emeralds held up to the sun. Life always ran rich through her. One of life’s angels, Louise couldn’t have wished for a better mother or Matt a better partner.
The pair disconnected while Scarlett drank and then gave the container back.
Neither of them spoke as they looked into each other’s eyes. They both knew what had to be done.
The chink of Scarlett’s milk bottles broke the silence. When she pulled them from her belt, Matt caught a strong whiff of petrol and his mouth watered. He’d always loved the smell.
A nod at them, and Matt said, “Are you sure you’re up for this? I can do it if you need me to.”
As if to nurture the petrol bombs, Scarlett pulled them into her bosom. Her eyes narrowed and she stared into space. “I’ve dreamed of this moment for a long time. I’ve always wanted to use the thing they’ve worshipped against them. Petrol’s not so fucking valuable when it’s melting your skin off. The price per barrel doesn’t matter when your eyes are running like bloody snot down your cheeks.”
Matt flinched at the image and stared at his tense wife. A glaze remained across her eyes.
He put his hand on her back and she flinched at his touch. She then relaxed slightly. After a stern nod, she said, “I want to do this. I want to do this for me, for you, and for Louise. If she can see a better world than we’ve known, then all of this bullshit will have been worthwhile.”
The wind howled through the abandoned streets and some dust flew into Matt’s already sore eyes.
“Besides,” Scarlett added as she fixed him with a hard stare, “I know what I’m doing.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t.”
“I led the charge when we burned Kensington and Chelsea to the ground.”
“I know, darling. I was there, by your side, every step of the way. But this is different; it’s a very specific and heavily guarded target.”
The aggression left Scarlett’s tone. “I’ll be fine.” She reached out and held Matt’s hand. For some reason, it took him back to the first time they’d touched like that. Childhood sweethearts, they’d sat on the swings one summer and he’d reached across, petrified she wouldn’t reciprocate. When she did, he knew she would be his wife one day.
Scarlett broke him from his thoughts when she said, “This is for the revolution.”
Matt nodded. “For the revolution.”
When he let go of her hand, she turned her back on him and walked away. He watched her slim form until it had disappeared into the darkness. She didn’t turn around again. He spoke in a whisper that he knew she wouldn’t be able to hear. “Please come back. Please.” It did little to ease the cold dread that pulled his stomach to the floor.
Chapter 2
Matt huddled in a dark corner that overlooked Parliament Square. Most of the buildings had already fallen to the revolution. Big Ben lay cracked in half on the ground like the mandible of a fallen monster; a steampunk dinosaur.
The Elizabeth Tower had lost its top half, and rubble lay strewn around the base of it. What remained of the structure pointed at the sky like a giant snapped finger. A huge chunk had also been ripped from its side; darkness stared from the hole. To look into it sent a shudder through Matt. Anything could be in its shadows.
The grass in the middle of the square had grown to waist height. All the streetlights and traffic lights had been smashed. Some had been bent and hung like wilted flowers. Glass sparkled on the ground that surrounded them.
The politicians had all left. Like the proverbial rats, they bailed at the first sign of trouble rather than waiting for the ship to sink. Most of their previous London dwellings had been torched and razed to the ground. But one remained—the final and most significant of all… although not for much longer.
The only light came from the moon, which had been half-hidden by cloud. The temperature had dropped to the point where a permanent shiver ran through Matt despite the seven or eight layers of rags draped over his skinny frame. His breath turned to condensation on the air.
London stood devastated and an eerie silence occupied the haunted streets. Despite the destruction, more damage needed to be done
. The chaos hadn’t ended. Not yet.
The splash of breaking glass flashed through the silence. Once, twice, and then a whoosh as the petrol ignited. She’d done it. Even so, the hard part remained firmly in front of her. With his stomach locked in a perpetual twist, Matt did all he could… he waited.
What felt like hours—but in reality couldn’t have been more than a few minutes—passed and a figure appeared from the road on the opposite side of the square in the direction of Number Ten, Downing Street. So heavily guarded, the revolutionaries had decided to leave it until last; nevertheless, it had to go. Every sign of previous rule had to be toppled for the revolution to count.
When the riots first started, social media came alive with photos of chaos and fire. Some of the most typed phrases from those who opposed it, those who wanted to continue in the fucked up system they believed to be a democracy, stood out in Matt’s mind—‘What’s the point? Since when did violence ever work?’
But they weren’t practicing violence. Wanton destruction, yes, but violence? Not yet at least. And when did it ever work? Try every fucking revolution, morons. Unfortunately, change only happened when shit got wrecked. Since time began, regimes had been toppled through violent and bloody uprising. Those who’d remained beholden to the old systems had undoubtedly asked exactly the same questions when their societies fell.
From the second he saw her, Matt recognised the form as his wife, but his heart truly lifted when the moonlight confirmed it for him. They’d agreed he would remain hidden until they knew it to be safe. Although what safe meant nowadays…
The svelte figure of the woman he loved moved like the wind. The revolution had improved everyone’s fitness. It brought people back to what they should be and turned people like Scarlett into athletes. The lives Matt and Scarlett used to live killed both their bodies and their brains. The media had poisoned their minds with fear and hate. The slavish dedication to a television schedule, fast food, and a cubicle existence had poisoned their bodies. But now, that nation of couch potatoes that received the fear-mongered bullshit delivered to them from on high had well and truly gone. The Elite had lost their grip on things.
The hole that had been blown in the side of the Elizabeth Tower had taken two sides of the structure out completely. The tower still remained upright in what seemed defiance to physical law but allowed Scarlett to dart into the hole and gain shelter in the shadows.
From across the square, over the top of the long grass, Matt could just about see the silhouette of his love. Although he couldn’t see her face, he could tell she stared at him like he did her. They only had one choice now, and it stood as the biggest challenge to overcome—they had to wait.
Matt’s heart beat in his neck like he’d just made the getaway himself. The urge to walk over to her tugged on every fibre of his being, but he held firm; it’s what they’d agreed, so it’s what he would do. Time, they had in abundance. Food, fuel, shelter, and protection were life’s luxuries now. Matt could wait. As long as he could see the love of his life while she hid in safety, he could wait a lifetime.
Matt glanced at his wind-up watch. It could have been any time of night. Probably not one in the morning like his watch said, but it still registered an accurate minute, even if the time of day read wrong. Four minutes had passed; six more needed to vanish before he went to her. The plan had to remain. After ten minutes, Matt could go to her. Not a second sooner.
Five minutes.
Six minutes.
Seven—
The click of boot heels hit the concrete road surface. Each one struck the ground at exactly the same time, and Matt flinched with each sharp step. The loud cracks spoke of a military unit as it closed in on them, the footsteps of The Elite Army.
Matt’s throat dried and his pulse raced as he watched the entrance to the road that led to Downing Street. The footsteps grew louder. Not long and the army would swarm into the square; Scarlett had nowhere to run. They’d find her in an instant if she didn’t move.
When Matt stood up, Scarlett waved for him to crouch down again. He pointed to her—I’m coming to you.
But she shook her head in return. A sadness pulled her frame into a slump and she cradled her arms as she showed the universal sign for a baby. Their baby. She may have been two years old, but they both still called their only child, Louise, their baby. The message was clear—she needed at least one parent, and it looked like Scarlett was about to be removed from the equation.
Panic rose up through Matt’s body and buzzed in his chest like a wasps’ nest. With ragged breaths, he shook and the bile in his stomach curdled. The memory and taste of the bitter cockroach returned.
The army appeared and a hot wave of nausea lifted sweat up on the back of Matt’s neck. As he watched on, his eyes burned with tears.
Although a blurred image of his wife, Matt knew her well enough to see the grief in her sagged demeanour. As he continued to watch, the sadness of two people tore through him. For his little girl, who may never get to know the great lady that she called Mum—hell, she probably wouldn’t even remember the magnificent woman who’d done so much for her already. And his own, for the loss of the woman he loved with every fibre of his being.
As though they knew her location all along, the army stopped by the broken remnants of Big Ben. Matt swallowed down the urge to react and dropped back into a crouch as his wife had insisted.
The call of men and women echoed through the deserted square. Matt’s head spun and he couldn’t make sense of their words. Not that he’d needed to; they’d found her.
From his dark hiding place, Matt watched them grab hold of his wife and drag her out into the street by her hair. Her scream called through the deserted city like the cry of some ugly bird… a broken and loud caw.
The army surrounded her, and the silhouette of a baton lifted into the air. It arced down and ended in a heavy thud. Scarlett screamed louder than before.
Another thud and she yelled as if they’d rent some of the skin from her back.
Another thud and another yell, breathy and winded.
Another thud.
A wheezed cry.
Then another.
Soon, the sound of her pain fell to a tattoo of thuds.
As Matt listened to the army beat a corpse, he curled into a ball. His eyes stung, his throat ached, his heart split, and he rocked on the cold and dusty ground.
Chapter 3
“That used to be the Royal Hospital, you know,” Matt said as he watched his little girl look at the building at the end of the path. Without a roof and with every window smashed, it stood as a relic that the dark night had turned into a jagged silhouette. For those with the memory of what it had once been, it served as a reminder of the old society where grand buildings and prime location had mattered.
“It doesn’t look very royal to me.”
The slightest smile lifted the corners of Matt’s mouth, an uncomfortable action for his stern and weather-beaten face. “We did a pretty good job at destroying anything that did.”
A look down at his feet, and Matt drew a deep sigh. Heavy scratch marks criss-crossed the headstone. He’d destroyed the name of the previous occupant. After he’d buried his love in the grave, he’d defaced the inscription until his hands bled. It had been so long ago, he couldn’t even remember who’d owned the grave before her. Some rich elitist arsehole who’d vilified the poor like the rest of them. Someone in power, devoid of empathy and overflowing with self-entitlement… a prime minister maybe. Definitely an MP of some sort—maybe a woman. He couldn’t remember the specifics. Not that it mattered anymore.
Despite the years that had passed, the grief weighed as heavy on his heart now as it had over a decade ago. The burn of tears needled his eyeballs.
Although she didn’t look at him, Louise slipped her small and cold hand into Matt’s palm. He closed his grip around it then looked up at the sky and blinked away his tears. The moon hung as a sliver in the sea of black. A thumbnail, at best
, it did little to light the dark and ruined city. With many buildings reduced to rubble, Matt’s line of sight when the sun came up remained unobstructed for miles. It also meant they could see him from miles away… and they had night vision.
Matt let go of his daughter’s hand and pulled her close. His grief swelled in him as a hot, damp weight. A deep breath kept the lump in his throat at bay. “Whenever we visit Mummy’s grave, it reminds me of you as a toddler.” His smile, though genuine, almost hurt against the sadness that dragged on his features.
“You were such a sassy little thing. Always there with a quip or a line, you constantly fought against our authority. You had spirit for sure… you still do. You inherited that from your mother. She was the strongest person I’ve ever met; she didn’t take crap from anyone.”
While she looked at the headstone, Louise sighed. “I wish I remembered her. I don’t even know what she looked like.”
“She was the most beautiful…” Matt trailed off. Any more thoughts of her and the dam would burst.
“This is the last time we’re going to come here… for a while, at least. We need to move on. There’s nothing here for us anymore.”
A frown crushed Louise’s pale face. “But our home’s here.”
“We’ve done nothing for months now, Louise. We need to move on. I’ve heard there’s a resistance movement in the north. People are gathering near Enfield to mount another attack. We’re at war still and we need to crush The Elite before we can affect any change in this life.”
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