Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Sources always emphasised the utility of wind-up devices after any sort of catastrophe. I used to be sceptical, but having now spent a couple of years surviving in the ruined urban wonderlands of southern England, I admit I was mostly wrong.
When I hooked up with this group last year, they made jokes about a person who babbled on the radio all the time. Curious, I gave it a listen. Whoever they were, they had a mega broadcast rig, and spent their time ranting. I guess sleep was the only thing that stopped them screaming into the void on every channel they could reach.
Which limited the usefulness of radio communications to when the babbler was offline. It did focus us on getting things done when we could, though.
Over the last year, when radios were usable, we’d been hearing about ‘the kills’. Something was making its way along the coast, exterminating smaller groups and loners. They didn’t even loot, and were very good. Some of the people they dealt with had been heavily armed.
A few months ago, after the Bognor Hunters were slaughtered, a new trend started: consolidation. Loners turned up at the gates of settlements, asking to join. Groups merged.
Then came the night the babbler spoke. The usual stream of nonsensical invective and begging stopped, and a slightly puzzled voice said.
“Who are you? How did you get in h-”
Then came a scream. The sort of sound I’d always thought was created for horror movies, not made by real humans.
In the silence that followed, a muffled voice whispered.
“All quiet.”
I grabbed the nearest handset without thinking. Pressing transmit, I asked.
“Who is this?”
Nothing. I continued while those around me looked on in horror.
“Are you part of the group that’s killing people?”
There was a snort of derision.
“We’re the end.”
The microphone fell onto something hard, then cut out.
After our yelling wound down, we had a long, serious – and frankly scared – discussion about what sort of maniacs were stalking the night. From there, we reached out to every group we knew.
For once, it wasn’t difficult approaching any of them. Those who hadn’t heard that broadcast had been told about it.
Defensive alliances started. We even have patrols and traders moving between the nearest settlements. Each has a cadre of fighters now. Hunting and scavenging are done in teams. The kills have stopped. The exchange of skills brought unexpected benefits. Two of the settlements even have rooftop farms going.
Maby was a loner. Clearly been out there a long time, admitted to being a countryside ranger and fitness freak before everything blew up or got flooded. She asked to join, did her time as a prospect, then blended in.
Tonight I saw her kill for the first time. She did it cold, without hesitation, and I realised we really know nothing about one another.
I ran a dojo for years, but not for full contact. People came for discipline, fitness, and all the other reasons why learning to fight calms the soul. A few regulars were dangerous: streetfighters or ex-military.
How Maby moves reminds me of the pair of really dangerous regulars I let spar one night to show the others the gulf between kata and life.
As a would-be bandit expires at her feet, she catches my stare and whispers.
“All quiet.”
I go cold, then hot. She grins.
“Nothing like the fear of actual screaming death to bring people together.”
Oh sh-
Best she stays on our side.
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