Winter

Dad was a computer technician, and very paranoid; racist to a large degree as well. Dad would keep documents of cultural, socio-political and technological interest backed up on flash drives hidden in a giant lead box in the basement, so that ‘when the great shitstorm comes, someone will have the means to rebuild’. It pains me to say it but I didn’t have much love for my old man; he would send me out daily for jobs that didn’t exist (we were in a recession, jobs were difficult to come by at best), and use the fact I came back empty handed as ammunition for his crusade against ‘undermining immigrants’

Mom was quite tomboyish, holding the rank of Staff Sergeant in the armed forces. Given we lived on site at Moms barrack; it was no surprise she would teach me to fire a gun in her down time. She might have been grooming me to join the family tradition.

And then there was my little sister Jenny; I’d do anything for her, she was a good kid, very quiet… shame about what happened to her though. But I’m getting ahead of myself, that’s for later in the story.

Dad had every right to be paranoid; the 2030’s very unstable times: the war machines of America and China, two of the world superpowers were slowly waking as the last reserves of oil were starting to become depleted; Al Qaeda, a terrorist organisation, thought disbanded in 2015 was back with a vengeance claiming possession of a dozen nuclear missiles, weapons of mass destruction, think a miniature sun; and Europe had all but become the world’s cesspit. Hell even Africa, regarded as a third world country, had a higher net income than many E.U. countries.

Dad felt the need to turn our basement, which at the time was my ‘lair’, into a fallout shelter. It was the smartest thing he ever did.

I was thirteen when I was dragged from my room, accompanied by the sounds of chaos, into the basement. We sat in there for days waiting for the explosions to stop. While I spent many a weekend down there playing war games like battle field four or COD:8… it… those were… it’s difficult to explain, it hits closer to home knowing that it was all real and that there would be no respawn if I got caught up there.

It took a week for the silence to begin.

The world above us was gutted, although the UK had one of the best anti-missile networks of the era, a few of them got through, they were mostly centred around major cities and London, the head of the political state, I’m not sure of the death toll but I’d estimate it to be around 30million. What was left of the country would have been done in by the fallout.

We didn’t particularly want to head out there into the wastes, and by consensus we agreed it was for the best to remain in our bunker. Dad reckoned he had enough dried food stored away to last us ten years.

We did not have the most extensive array of medical supplies however, and that is where the problems began.

It was shortly after my fifteenth birthday, and what a fun day that was (mom and I had gone on a scouting run into town, just to see if there were any signs of life, or whether nature had begun to reclaim the land), when Jenny was struck down with the sickness, we didn’t have any anaesthetics available. Did I tell you how I’d do anything for jenny? She was a good kid, real shame about what happened to her.

Mom gave me a gun, Berretta 9mm, still got it, named it after her. It’s a human thing, naming weapons; I won’t even try to explain it to you. Mom broke into the armoury, took an MP5, and then we set off into town.

When we went scouting days before we noticed an encampment, the weapons were just a precaution; I wasn’t expecting to have to kill anyone. But life has a habit of throwing you when you get into a routine.

We were ambushed in the pharmacy; I was just putting some morphine into my backpack when he came round the corner.

He was crazy, no question about it: dishevelled appearance, smelled like shit, and mumbling to himself all the while carrying a grenade, that’s a hand held explosive, pull the- oh, ponies have grenades? Fair enough.

He told me how I had been judged as unclean, and he pulled the pin on the grenade. I froze up, my short life flashing before my eyes, as mom tackled him and his grenade into the back room… that was the last time I saw her.

I was sick right then, my inability to react cost my mother her life. I would have honestly taken my own life. But that wouldn’t have got Jenny her medicine… have I told you I’d do anything for Jenny? Not even death could stop me from ensuring her safety.

It was dark when I finally got back home. All the lights were out, which was odd, we had a backup generator courtesy of dad’s paranoia. Turned out we’d been raided.

I found dad lying in a pool of his own blood, his chest all but liquefied by a shotgun blast. I respect the old man for being able to hold out for so long, the gang had attacked shortly after Mom and I had left.

They’d taken my sister. Have I told you how I would do anything for Jenny? How I would personally murder anyone who even thought of harming a hair on her head? The gang had done more than that, they raped her, killed her then cannibalised her. After I was through with these guys, the boogieman would be checking under his bed for me… I became a monster; for a year I was little more than a wild beast, scouring the country for them, anything linked to that one gang; I destroyed it.

I started coming to my senses after a year, I felt cold inside. Avenging my family had brought me no peace, no closure, just emptiness. I began to wander aimlessly. It’d be another week before I came across the singularity.