Exodus

Ross.

Crouching low, Ross Bolton slowly worked his way along behind the stunted hedge growing alongside the water. Quietly, careful not to make any noise, Bolton slowly raised his head, peering through the twisted foliage until he spotted his quarry once more.

It was hard to believe that badgers had once been thought of as relatively harmless creatures, too small to be any real threat to a human. Of course, that had been in the days before they they could grow to nearly six feet in length and before they weighed several hundred pounds. Before the bombs had started flying again and the world had truly gone to hell. That had been two centuries ago now. Back when the land had been known as the United Kingdom.

Before raising his rifle Ross slowly turned his head left and right. It appeared he had gotten lucky, the badger was a full grown male, but it appeared to be alone. Had he come across a pack, then fighting wouldn't be an option. One man wouldn't last long against six of these creatures, and that would be a small pack, Ross had heard of groups of up to twenty all occupying the same territory and defending the same sett.

Across the stream the badger paused, raising it's powerful snout in the air and sniffing several times before lowering it's head once more and trundling forward. As quietly as he could Bolton raised his ancient rifle and braced the stock against his shoulder, squinting his left eye as he peered through the scope he had attached to the Lee Enfield. The gun was a family heirloom, passed from father to son since it had first been issued to a long forgotten great grandfather in 1927, making the gun three hundred and fifty years old.

The cross-hair etched into the scope's lens danced back and forth along the length of the creature's striped head, showing Ross a close up view of the large, heavy skull and powerful neck. He had to get the shot right or the .303 round would ricochet harmlessly off the thick bone, angering the creature and giving away his position at the same time. Bolton slowed his breathing as he carefully aimed for the creature's eye, trying to anticipate the creature's movements. Exhaling slowly, Ross squeezed the trigger. The badger's eye popped as the bullet passed through it, blood spurting from the wound as the shot bounced around inside the skull, pulverizing the brain.

As the mutated badger collapsed to the ground, it's body spasming, Ross quickly drew the combat knife from his belt and began looking for a gap in the hedge. He forced his way through a small break in the stunted branches, then took a few rapid steps and vaulted across the irradiated water. He would have to be quick now. The shot would have been heard and would draw the attention of predators, both animal and human. Usually he would not have made the shot so close to a town as he tried to avoid encounters with bands of raiders and feral Shufflers. But he hadn't eaten in days and the weather was turning, getting colder. If he moved quickly then he should be able to skin the beast and cut a meal or two from it's carcass before he had move to on.

Working quickly with the knife Bolton opened the flesh of the beast, splitting it from groin to sternum, taking care not to pierce the organs inside. It was bloody work, but Ross had done it many times in the past and cut with the efficiency of a skilled butcher. Once the hide had been removed from the creature Bolton swiftly removed a few choice cuts of meat from the carcass. He wrapped these carefully inside of the badger's pelt then slipped the bundle inside his worn old rucksack. Shouldering the bag Ross took another run-up and jumped back across the stream. Passing back through the gap in the hedge Bolton remained low as he crossed the the old, overgrown remains of a road, sickly looking grass poking up through cracks in the surface as nature slowly took back the area. Across the road loomed the twisted, blackened remains of a forest. Ross slipped into it's cool shadows, grateful for the cover it provided as he moved deeper into the gloom. He decided he would move away from the town and keep moving, at least for a few hours. He wanted to put a lot of miles between himself and any people before he risked lighting a fire.

He would have to do it, he knew this. The meat needed to be cooked before he could eat it and the hide needed to be cured before it started to rot and became useless to him. It was necessary but it always came with an element of risk as the flames would attract as many predators as it would keep away. Most of the wildlife was still shy of the flames and would give him a wide berth unless starving or particularly crazed. But the human raiders and the shufflers held no great fear of fire and wouldn't be deterred by it, instead they would be drawn to the glow and the tell-tale smoke, the fire a beacon as they hunted him. He would try to keep the fire small, try not to allow it to produce too much smoke. It would have to be enough. Bolton couldn't die here, he'd finally stored up enough currency, if the rumours were true. He would build his fire and eat well tonight and in the morning he would continue north. North to the ruins of Liverpool and the shipyards where he could buy passage west. West to America. If the rumours were true then America survived the war mostly intact, the population taking shelter in huge underground vaults and waiting out the devastation while their mechanical servants rebuilt the surface for them to repopulate.

Two centuries should have been more than enough time for the nation to have rebuilt itself to the point where it was ready to begin accepting refugees. If the rumours were true.

A well-writted chapter, Kettle. I noticed a few mising commas and apostrophes that shouldn't be there, but nothing to create a fuss over. I like the metaphorical language use you had played out in this. I look forward to the next chapter!

Thanks Schmuty, glad you enjoyed the start mate.

Cassie.

Cassandra laughed as her father slid the steaming bowl of stew along the surface of the table towards her. Her smile lighting up the room as the young woman's hand deftly shot out, stopping the dish as it skidded past. Some of the contents slopped over the edge, causing the girl to cry out as it scalded her knuckles, raising another laugh from the men sitting round the table in the old derelict building.

“You all packed again then?” Her father asked. Smiling as he spooned some of the meal into his mouth, the gravy spilling from the spoon and staining the grey hair of his beard. “Yeess daaad.” She replied, elongating each word and rolling her eyes as only a petulant seventeen year old girl can. “Everything I'm taking is packed and ready, I even had Charlie load it onto the cart for me already. When do we leave already? I'm booored. We've been here for days now.”

Her father nodded his thanks to the one eyed guard who had helped his daughter before answering the girl's question. “We'll move out in the morning, we needed to resupply before we pushed on, otherwise we'd never make it to the boat. It's going to be a tough day tomorrow and perhaps for a few days after. We're heading into what's left of York and it may take us a couple of days to move through the city.”

“We're going through?” The girl gasped, her blue eyes wide with fear. Her father smiled again, she wasn't the brightest girl, but Cassie was no fool either. She understood the risk they would be taking as they tried to find a route through the ruined city. Her father and the guards ran the risk of being killed and most likely eaten by the raiders who would be lurking in the ruins. If the girl was lucky then this would be her fate too, but the old man didn't believe that would be the case. He had been around for long enough to know what became of good looking young women who had the misfortune of being captured. Cassie would endure many years of abuse before the raiders would feel they had used her up. Suffering every depravity that her captors wished to visit upon her.

The old man nodded, his face turning grave as he did so. “We are,” he quickly held a hand up to quiet his daughter's protests, “it's risky, God knows it's risky Cassie. But we don't know if there are any other boats left, or how long these'll stay for. You heard the broadcast on the radio, they're staying 'till it gets too dangerous to be in the docks then they are off to the new world. Who knows when the next one will come along? You just stay close to Charlie love, he'll keep you safe.”

Cassandra glanced sideways at the guard in question. Half-hand Charlie, as he was known by the other guards, silently looked back and nodded. She knew that the man worked for her father and had for several years, but he scared her a little. The other guards stories about him differed, some claimed he had always been a guard and that he'd just been unlucky and gotten himself captured by raiders. Others claimed that Charlie had been born into a raider tribe and had somehow managed to anger the warlord. However they all agreed that he wasn't to be trifled with. He had been tortured by them, that was beyond question. His left hand was missing the ring and pinky fingers and a chunk of the palm had also been severed, the wound running in a straight line from the base of his middle finger to his wrist. Charlie himself had nothing to say on the subject, some of the guards claimed he was quite the pvssyrbox back in his youth, but obviously this was before his tongue had been cut out and his eye had been burned from his head. Somehow, so the story went, Charlie had managed to get himself loose and silently slaughtered the entire camp as they slept, slitting the throat of every man and woman there. Cassie didn't know how much of the tale was truth, but she knew she believed every word.

“Can we make it in time then Dad? For the boat? And if we can, then will it really be able to take us away from all this?” Cassandra asked, once more turning her nervous blue eyes to her father's face. “Are the stories really true? Did America survive? Will we really be able to cross the water between?”

The old man leaned across the table and ruffled his daughter's hair, earning a reproachful look from her as he messed up the curly auburn locks. He chuckled a little at the adolescent's glare before answering. “Of course it's true darling. In a couple of days we will be all loaded up on board and bound for greener pastures. I'd be questioning it too I suppose, if I hadn't seen it myself. I stood on the dock with your grandmother and watched as her brother, my uncle undertook exactly the same voyage. That was decades ago now, before you were born, back when I was younger than you are now. There was hundreds of them packed onto that ship. Land of the free they call it. So long as it's better than this [censored] hole I don't care what they call it.”

“Dad?”

“Hmmm?”

“What about the stories the fishermen tell? The weird creatures living around the coast and the bigger things that live offshore.”

“Those? Oh, they're just stories to scare the young 'uns like you darling.”

“You're sure?”

“As sure as I am that my name is Alexander Tenpenny. Now come on, finish up your supper and get to bed. We've got a busy day tomorrow.”

Nice little twist at the end there Kettle :thumbsup:

I like this. I hope you take your time getting to the good old USA, since I've never seen/read a fallout iteration of the UK. Also curious what creatures lurk beneath the irradiated ocean.

Only advice I'll throw out is consistency. You call "Ross Bolton" "Bolton" sometimes and "Ross" others. No biggie. That, and maybe tighten things up a little; less detail, shorter sentences, etc.

Hope you finish Sound of Silence one of these days, but I'll be checking this out in the meantime. Good job

Nice, I like it and shall read on with moderate excitement.

Yeah, sound of silence was beautifully written but unfinished. I want more beauty!

This is good and all too.
:happy:

Thanks for the feedback guys. I'm not giving up on The Sound of Silence, but I have hit a bit of a wall so I'll come back to it later.

Thanks for the pointers Surfer. I'm in no rush to get them to America mate, I'm more interested in the journey at the moment. With the "Ross & Bolton" thing I was trying to avoid just using the same name too often. I didn't realise that it would mess up the consistency, I'll try to keep an eye on that.

Archie.

“[censored] me boss, the natives are getting restless ain't they?” Archie Wikes grinned as he pitched another body over the side of the boat. “They've been gnawing at our [censored] wigwam for days now. You reckon we should jump on the radio again boss? Remind them that if they don't bring some payment, then they ain't getting on board.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the body. “Save them ending up like that poor [censored] down there.” He watched, waiting for an answer as Mr Polson moved to the edge of the ship and peered over into the choppy water.

Polson turned back to face Archie, the older man's eyes looking huge behind the thick lensed eyeglasses. “Nah, we already broadcast twice. People will have heard the message. If we keep broadcastingg that we're here then every [censored] with a gun'll be heading our way, trying to take my [censored] boat. No, we can't have that Archie.”


Ross.

Bolton sat in silence as the badger meat sizzled on the fire. He faced away from the flames so that the light didn't ruin his night vision, casting a long shadow across the clearing as he waited for the meat. The badger meat would be ready soon, as soon as it was he would begin kicking dirt into the flames, smothering and extinguishing them as quickly as he could without wasting his precious water. “Best take a quick look while you still have light then.” He mumbled as he grasped his rucksack and pulled it towards himself.

He pulled an ancient map from one of the bag's many side pouches, the paper yellowed and frayed at the edges. Ross unfolded it carefully, not wanting to break the brittle paper as he plotted his route. The firelight illuminated the paper as he held the map up before his eyes. He was almost to Chester, according to the map he would soon have to choose the route he was going to take, either moving north-west to Warrington which would take him wide around the river. Or he could head north-east towards Birkenhead. This would bring him to Liverpool much faster but would necessitate finding a way across the river. The map showed a tunnel beneath the river, but the passage would most likely be pitch dark and crawling with hostile creatures.

Suddenly from the darkness Ross heard the sound of a twig snapping. He quickly refolded the map and drew the heavy revolver he kept in his pocket. It could be nothing, but he wasn't willing to take any chances. He crept quietly backwards away from both the sound and the fire, slipping into the darkness. As he went he silently scanned the trees around the clearing, spotting the rifle where he had left it, wedged in the low branches of a tree. The antique gun pointed back into the clearing, the glass of the scope glinting in the firelight. He kept moving until he was sure that he couldn't be seen, then stopped and crouched low, pointing the pistol back towards the fire.

Long minutes passed as Ross squatted in the darkness, watching and waiting. He was almost convinced that the noise had been nothing. He began slowly inching his way back towards the burning meat before it was ruined when he caught a glimmer of movement. He froze, slowly turning his head to watch as a scrawny figure crept towards his camp. As the intruder moved closer to the flames Ross could see it was a malnourished man in a filthy woollen jumper and stained trousers. Ross was also able to see the long, rusty knife clutched in the man's dirty hand.

The scrawny, dishevelled man was obviously wary as he moved closer to the fire. Suspicious that both fire and food had been left unattended. Moving surprisingly fast the man darted forward and snatched a piece of meat from the fire. He howled in pain as the meat singed his fingers. He dropped the meat and immediately snatched it up again, cramming the dirty steak into his mouth. He used his knife to lift another piece from the fire and took a seat on the floor beside Ross's rucksack. The scrawny man pulled the bag into his lap and glanced around once more.

Ross saw the man tense up as he spotted the rifle pointing at him from the edge of the clearing. Slowly the scrawny man placed the bag on the ground again and got to his feet. “Easy mate,” he called out into the darkness, believing that the darkness behind the rifle concealed a hidden shooter, “I didn't mean any harm. I saw your gear here and I figured you'd been killed and dragged off or something.” When there was no response the man slowly raised his arms above his head. “Listen, I'm just going to go ok? Sorry again about the food...” The man fell silent as Ross pressed the barrel of the pistol against the back of his head.

“You alone?” Ross whispered, holding the pistol in place with his left hand while taking the knife from the intruder's hand and tossing it towards the fire. The scrawny man hesitated for a moment before replying. “N... No, two more. They'll be here soon.”

“You're lying.” Ross whispered once more. “If that was true then you'd have said yes, kept me talking while they crept up. You're alone.” He seized the man roughly by the shoulder and shoved him towards the fire. “It's a free meal you're after then is it?” He asked as the man cried out and fell into the dirt. “Fair enough, I have enough I suppose, but you'll be staying here 'till morning.”

The man glanced furtively at the rifle and tried to give a weak smile. “If it's all the same to you then I'll be off actually. I've imposed enough already.”

“You'll be staying. I'm not having you run back to your camp to bring anyone else here.”

The scrawny man froze. “I... I don't have a camp. I'm a scav, out looking for loot.”

“Lie to me again,” Ross levelled his pistol, “and I'll [censored] end you right now. You're no scav. Where's your pack? Your gear? I know you're from that town. You heard the shot, probably found the carcass too. I've got nothing for you that's worth taking. So sit there, eat your food and shut the [censored] up. If there's no problems before morning then you can go your way and I'll go mine.”

The scrawny man hesitated for a moment, all fight going out of his eyes as he weighed his options. “Ok, ok I won't be any trouble,” he nodded towards the rifle wedged in the tree, “Your friend not joining us?”

“He's alright where he is, he'll be keeping an eye on you if I fall asleep and believe me, he never misses.” Ross pulled the last of the meat from the fire, tossing it onto his rucksack before it could burn his hands then took a seat. He pointed the pistol again. “Put the fire out. Kick soil over it 'till it's out then sit down again.” The scrawny man got up silently and did as he was told. When he was finished and seated again Ross picked up a couple of bits of charred meat and threw them to the intruder.

“Thanks.” He caught one as it flew through the air, the other falling in the dirt beside him. Greedily he took a bite of the meat, tugging at the charred flesh with his teeth until he tore a piece off. “So,” he began, his mouth still full as he talked, “Where are you heading?”

Ross stretched out on the ground. “Shut the [censored] up and eat. You don't get to ask questions. Just eat and then sleep. And remember,” he pointed towards the rifle, “he's watching you”

Red Dead Redemption?

Where?

Everywhere!

Just kidding, I think he just meant the overall tone of your character. I like the whole second rifle/second person idea, but I felt the dialogue was slightly forced. It was still oddly charming even though it seemed slightly forced. My only critique wold be to rephrase what he's saying and not put quite as many swears.

Yes, the rifle wedged in the tree is fantastic. I am very curious about Cassie's group getting through town, to the boat. Great writing Kettle, keep it up

Excellent. Very glad I took the time to read it. My favorite part was the confrontation with the Scav....Amazing. That too me was the height of your work for it captured the two characters perfectly, giving them a human quality and sense of depth that allows the reader to connect with them. Nice job.

I would definitely avoid the swear words, those censor bars just make giggle and that probably takes away from the effect that you had in mine, right?

Other then that, I shall continue to watch this, hopefully with more helpful advice.

Please Continue my chap.

Thanks for the feedback and support guys. Glad you're enjoying it so far. Here is the next part.



Cassie.

“So, what do we do now Dad?” The girl asked, pushing her hair back out of her face as she looked along the road ahead. Several buildings had collapsed into the street, choking the road with rubble and making it impossible for the cart to pass. The old man scratched his head as he looked around and sighed. “Is there a way around?” He asked the guard nearest him.

“Buggered if I know boss.” Replied Luke, the oldest of the guards. A lean, hard man in his mid fifties with steel grey hair. “I suppose that we could scout the side streets and try to find a way round, but that could take a while. We do have to find a way back to this road though, it leads to the bridge across the Ouse and without backtracking and circling round town, that's our only way across.”

“I'd rather not stop if we can avoid it. What are the alternatives?'' Alexander Tenpenny asked, nervously glancing at the ruined buildings surrounding them.

“Load up whatever can be carried and continue on foot. Climb over this rubble and hope it clears up further in.” The guard, looked at the heaps of rubble strewn across the road and frowned.

“That's the only alternative? Leave most of my worldly goods here and continue on with what? There is a small fortune on that cart.”

“Which is why you have four guards with you. You and your daughter make six. The cart will have to stay here, but if you unchain the slaves pulling it then that makes eight people who can carry. We'll load up whatever we can carry and push on.”

Archie.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Polson roared in the face of the refugee as he thrust a battered old book into the man's face. “Is this it? You call this sufficient payment, one bloody book.” He stepped forward , stopping when he was standing nose to nose with the would be passenger. “Do I look like a mug to you?” He snarled.

“But you don't understand.” The man blurted, nervously running his fingers through his greasy hair. “It will be very valuable, it's the complete works of Shakespeare and it's almost completely intact.”

“It's the what?” Polson asked, tilting his head and squinting through the thick lenses of his glasses.. “Never mind. I don't give a toss who wrote it, it's no bloody use to me. It's not enough so piss off.”

“But it's priceless, if you sell it to the right person you'll...” The refugee was cut off abruptly as the short ginger haired man grabbed him by the front of his shirt, “Do I look like I would know the right person you bell end? If you don't get off my ship right now I'm going to have Archie here shoot you.”

Archie sighed and picked his AK up from the deck and loaded it. He already knew how this would end. The guy with the book would keep trying to convince Mr Polson that his book was priceless and die on the ship. Leaving the ship wasn't an option for this fellow. It wasn't only refugees that had heard about the ship. Various raider tribes had also flocked to the city and judging from the almost constant gunfire and pillars of smoke billowing around the ruined city, they were having a great time out there. This greasy haired guy with the book didn't look like much, limping with his head wrapped in a bloody bandage. He had probably only made it this far through blind luck. Archie knew that luck ran out fast in a place like this, the guy wouldn't survive the trip back through Liverpool.

Archie almost felt sorry for the fellow, to him the thick tome probably was priceless. Most likely it contained something good, considering how vehemently he was protesting. But he was simply talking to the wrong person. Polson may not have lived up to the stories from Archie's childhood. He was five feet tall and ginger haired, his face lined and worn behind the thick glass of his spectacles. Standing on the deck of the old ship Polson didn't look much like a pirate from the old stories, but that was exactly what he was. Archie hadn't expected this when he'd signed up on the ship, it'd seemed like a deal when the old man had offered him the job a few months back. Escort some refugees and get a free trip out over to America. Everyone had heard the stories of the land that could survive the war. During the resource wars that preluded the final conflict the radio waves had been full of broadcasts from the United states. Announcing that they could survive a nuclear conflict and rebuild within a matter of a few years.

If that was true then all this would be worth it. All the stealing and killing could be justified because he could have a second chance. He had been horrified the first time he was ordered to kill a refugee, but he had done it. It seemed to be some kind of initiation and the crew accepted him more afterwards, so Archie had adapted and he did what was necessary. He knew that if he protested he would be shot and thrown overboard himself. So far he had managed not to cross Polson and he hoped to keep it that way.

“Archie!” Polson's harsh voice snapped him out of his reverie, “Yes boss?” The bespectacled man jabbed a finger at the refugee. “I said shoot him you dike 'ead. I'm sick of him, I gave him a chance and he wouldn't listen.” The refugee screamed as Archie raised the old Russian weapon and fired a short burst into the man's chest. The sound abruptly cut off as the bullets pulverized his lungs As the body slowly crumpled to the ground Polson stomped across the deck and stood in front of Archie. “What the bloody hell was that, you better stop daydreaming son and liven yourself up.”

“Sorry boss,” Archie dutifully snapped, “What was the book about?” Polson looked down at the thick stack of paper still clutched in his fist. He held it up for a moment, looking at it consideringly before tossing it overboard into the water below. “Who cares? It wasn't enough. Throw him in after it.” He turned and stalked away across the deck then paused. “And after you're done, make me a cup of tea.”

Mad you added the cup of tea part at the end. Besides that the only other thing is that you spell spectacle with an 'e'. I'm not sure if its different where your from though.
:thumbsup:

Sorry about that. In my haste to post I forgot to spellcheck it. Should all be fixed now.

Cool, good job. Other than that, pretty good chapter. I like how you gave Polson a nice intro into his character type, as well as Archie. Oh, and nice name, too.

Glad you liked it mate. I hope that people continue to do so.

Cassie.

“Piss on that! I'm not carrying anything all that way except my gun and my balls.” Snapped Rodney, another of Tenpenny's guards. A tall man that Cassie found exceptionally strange. He had an odd accent and one of his ears sat higher than the other and stuck straight out. “No chance Luke, forget it.”

The grey haired old guard sighed in exhaspiration, “Don't be a plonker all your life Rod. It's a good deal. Yeah you'll have to carry a heavy pack and you'll be knackered by the end of it. But Tenpenny has offered to double everyone's pay as compensation. We'll all be able to retire rich men once we reach America.”

“That's crap Luke and you know it. America didn't survive no better than anybody else., all those pre-war broadcasts were what my old mam called “Propaganda.” An' that basically means lies. You really think that it's goin' to be worth it if we even get there.”

The grey haired old guard shook his head as he produced a battered old pipe from one pocket and a pack of pre-war cigarettes from another. Holding one of the dry old smokes above the pipe he slowly rolled it back and forth between his fingers, squeezing gently so that the tobacco fell from it into the pipe. Once the pipe's bowl was sufficiently filled Luke twisted the paper, trapping the rest of the tobacco in the half empty smoke before returning it to the pack. “I'll be honest with you here Rodney,” Luke paused to light the pipe and take a couple of puffs of ancient tobacco smoke, “I don't care if it survived or not. If I can afford to pack all this in, set myself up somewhere and put my feet up. Then I'll die happy. Now he is offering us all a chance for this.”

“But what if he's wrong?” Rodney interrupted. “What if we get there and find out that it's just as bad the other side of the ocean?”

“What if we do?” The grey haired man shrugged, “If it's just as bad then we've lost nothing. And what are the other options anyway? Stay here? You know that the raider tribes have been getting more aggressive in recent years, forming bigger clans and taking areas over. I'm too old to fight that. You could head south, try to hop the channel to what's left of France. I wouldn't advise that, from what I hear they are in a worse state than we are and the wasteland over there is full of garlic eating surrender monkeys. Nah, sticking with Tenpenny and his daughter is the smart choice right now.”

A short while later the eight people stood at the base of the first pile of rubble, seven of them weighed down by the heavy packs strapped to their backs. Tenpenny had been adamant that his daughter was not to carry anything, wanting nothing to impede her chances of escaping if the worst happened and they were attacked. While the guards were loading all the valuables they could carry into their packs the old man had repeatedly gone over his instructions to Cassie. At the first sign of trouble she was to try to vanish into the ruined city and backtrack to the friendly town where they had resupplied. Her father and the guards would hold the attackers off so that she would have time to slip away.

Clambering over the piles of rubble was tough going, the smashed brickwork loose and precarious underfoot. Cassie watched from the top, her nimble feet and lack of weight on her back allowing her to clamber up more rapidly than the others. The guards weren't far behind her, but her father and the slaves appeared to be struggling, the old man panting and sweating as he scrambled his way up the pile of broken bricks, unused to the physical exertion. The two slaves climbed more slowly than all the others, chained together at the throat with the heavy chains that had previously bound them to the now abandoned cart. Cassie felt sorry for the slaves, but her father had been adamant that keeping them chained together was for the best, claiming that they would most likely flee, stealing the valuable items they were being forced to carry when they went. Cassandra didn't know how true the old man's assumptions were, but her protests had fallen on deaf ears.

The exertion lasted for several hours, the group laboriously scrambling up one side of a pile of debris, then slipping and sliding down the treacherous downward slope of the opposite side. Cassie lost her footing several times during the next few hours of clambering up and down the rubble. By the time they reached the other side her knees were raw and bleeding from her near falls. Had she been carrying a heavy burden like the others then her injuries would undoubtedly be much worse. Eventually they crested a pile which led to open ground once more, the road again clear of the collapsed remains of the old street.

The old road continued through the end of the old street, the view opening up as the densely packed buildings suddenly stopped at the bank of the river Ouse. The dark, turgid water slowly flowing beneath the ancient stone blocks of the wide bridge. In several places the masonry had collapsed into the sluggish, irradiated water, but enough remained standing for the party to cross. It was slow going, the group pausing to cross narrow walkways of concrete one at a time. When they were a little over half way across a sharp sound suddenly shattered the silence. The shrill note of a hunting bugle being sounded nearby. They had been spotted. The guards immediately dropped to their knees, Half hand Charlie grabbing Cassie by the shoulder and pulling her down to the floor with him. The girl kept her head down while all around her the guards held weapons at the ready and scanned the ruined city for signs of movement.

“Got one boss.” Luke muttered while peering down the scope attached to his gun, the barrel of his rifle slowly tracking the movements of an emerging raider, past the far end of the bridge. “Oh bugger me,” the grey haired old guard breathed, “we should fall back boss. There isn't a way through here, I've got more of them coming out of the woodwork. A lot more.”

“I told you we should have gone round. I bloody told you.” Rodney wailed, pointing back along the bridge at the group of raiders that were cresting the last pile of rubble behind them. “It's a trap, they let us through so they could trap us here. That's it, we're done, we're bloody stuffed. What are we supposed to do now?”

Cassie almost screamed as her arm was roughly grabbed, she turned, her mouth already opening. No sound came out however, the urgent expression on the face of Charlie enough to silence her as he pressed a heavy revolver into her small hand. He held her gaze for a moment longer, the look on his one-eyed face questioning now. Not speaking, Cassie nodded, letting the guard know she knew what he meant. She understood the situation, surrender wasn't an option, there was only one way the group would get away. Wordlessly Cassie thumbed back the hammer on the pistol and waited for the signal to start shooting.

Nicely done. I really am eager for you to do the next one because I am curious to see if you execute it as perfectly as the other chapters. THis will be your most challenging task; I know how hard and long fire fights can be. It will be interesting to see how you write Cassie, as she is the most inexperienced with a weapon in the lot.