The fit is tight and not exactly what I would call my style but in a post apocalyptic world one can’t be too choosy. Leather pants, studded belt, black mesh tank top that is showing just a little more than I am comfortable with, but seeing as how I was butt naked about two hours ago I won’t complain too much. I did find a blood red short sleeve jacket to cover up the girlies a little bit, still one good breeze and ….one gets the picture. Throw in some thigh high boots and I could almost pass as a female Mad Max.

Mad Max? Now where in the hell did I pull that out of? I know it is a film from the Nineteen Seventy-Nine with that Australian guy Gibson, but I have never seen it. I can tell you almost anything about it and I have no idea how.

In fact I have no memory except for the past couple of hours when I woke up in this living nightmare. I seem to know a lot of things but I have no way to explain how. All I know is that the world or at least London has been bombed to Hell and back. Somehow I was locked up in a basement of a museum while all this happened and lived through it. My name is Tuck and for some reason the name Mys-Tech sends my blood boiling.

Not much to go on, but it is all I got.

As I run through all the questions running through my head I search the back wall of the shop I am in and find not quite the thigh high boots I envisioned, however knee high combat zippered style fits the bill just fine. I clear off a small bench sending roaches running in different directions so that I can slip them on to check the fit. It’s true what they say; in the end all that can survive a nuclear bomb are cockroaches and Twinkies. I haven’t found any Twinkies yet. Key word, yet. I know one more thing that they can add to the list. Of all the places I could find still standing with some type of clothing to wear it would have to be a leather fetish shop.

Just great.

Blood has already began to seep from bandaged feet to stain my white socks crimson, the dull ache reminding me to not walk through broken glass barefoot ever again. I slide the boots on gingerly, wincing as I push my foot in. It’s not a perfect fit, a little loose, but beggars can’t be choosers in this case. I lace them up and stand to put some weight on them. It hurts, could be worse though. I could be dead.

Now that I am dressed I need two more things to complete my look. Weapons and food. Ok food won’t complete my look, but it sure will take care of the grumbling in my stomach. So with a determined stride I step out into what I assume is a midday sun and scan the street from one end to the other in the hopes I may find some sort of structure that may contain something I could use. Unfortunately all I see is a lot of crumbled ruins, burnt and rusted vehicles, and if I squint really hard I could almost see ghosts. I just can’t believe that anyone was actually that stupid to literally blow it all away. A tear rolls down my cheek. Am I crying because I am sad or because I am angry? I really don’t care right now; I will find out the answer though eventually.

I wandered the streets for another hour before I happen to stumble upon of all things a pawnbroker shop. If ever I could find a weapon this would be the perfect place to look, most pawn shops are usually stocked to the hilt with various types of guns, knives, and other types of knick-knacks a girl like me would need. Hopefully they have something that one could consider a bit of overkill. That would really make my day. I try and rub as much of the grime and dust from the window to get a better view inside. Surprisingly this building is virtually intact outside and within and the chances of me finding something here is very, very good.

I look around for something to throw through the plate glass barrier between me and a possible weapons cornucopia when my eye catches a flutter of a tattered piece of paper sticking up from a nearby storm water grate. I reach for it and carefully smooth the aged and wrinkled folds out to read the headline.

TALKS BREAK DOWN. BRITISH PRIME MINISTER ASKS ALL OF BRITIAN TO PRAY FOR A MIRACLE! 

Underneath is an article that has been long faded away from time; however the date is still visible. July 21, 2027. It is quite possible that days later was when everything went boom. Now if I just knew what year it was today I could have a sense of just how hot the area still was with radioactive fallout. It’s quite possible that I have already been exposed to enough rads to kill me a thousand times over; I believe that would be something a girl would want to know. I find a nice size chunk of concrete nearby to act as my key into the pawn shop. I feel the hefty weight of it in my hand, stare at my reflection in the window, and let it fly.

The shattering glass echoes in the dead silence all around me.

Half an hour later I step from the shop with a could of long bladed knives strapped unto my legs, a bow slung across my back with a case full of a multitude tipped graphite arrows in my right hand, and a double barreled shotgun that looks more like an antique than a workable model. However the blast holes in the store room wall say otherwise. A couple of bricks of good ammo stashed in a handy duffle bag and I feel a little bit better wandering this graveyard that was once London.

Now to find some food and more importantly drinkable water. All this walking and sun beating down on me has made me very thirsty. I only get a second to think about my hunger and thirst when I distinctly hear a scream for help nearby. Without hesitation I break out into a full sprint in the direction of the screaming. Shots are fired and my heart begins to pound with anticipation. It appears I am not as alone as I thought I was.

Not wanting to put myself in what could be a precarious and dangerous predicament I take the high road by climbing up a mountain of debris where I would be able to scope out the scene and determine how to approach it, if at all. What I saw I never would have expected.

Below me was a small group of people backed against a shattered wall of a cathedral. A woman huddled was grasping a couple of children close to her, an elderly guy was running away from the scene, and another was standing his ground swinging a rifle wildly trying to fight off a pair of ….

“WARWOLVES!” I cried out.

I leapt into action without thinking letting off a double-barreled blast with my shotgun at the closest warwolf who growled at me with more annoyance than pain. It turned towards me and let out a high pitched screech that hit me like a physical punch in the mouth. Never knew that they could do that.

How in the hell do I know anything that they do? This is getting to be a bit irritating to me now. Right now is not the time to stop and worry about the little things, but to kick some major ass and quick. I reach for my bow and quickly notch an arrow, while holding two in my mouth. The warwolf charges at me and I take aim. The first arrow bounces harmlessly off the creature’s slick skin, so I quickly notch another arrow and take a knee and steady my aim this time. Waiting patiently as the warwolf approached closer, closer, .closer ….I let the arrow fly.

This time I puncture the softest point on it. The arrow buries itself deep in the warwolf’s eye and piercing the organ behind it, killing it instantly. The warwolf’s lifeless body slides to a halt right at my feet. I stare down at it briefly before I turn my attention to the other one. I look on in horror as the other warwolf had caught up to the elderly man and was absorbing his life essence. I take aim and let loose an arrow that bounces off of its back harmlessly, the creature turns towards me to give me a disgruntled huff before going back to its victim. Thing is something else has caught its attention. Namely the dead body of its companion behind me.

The creature slowly turned towards me hissing what seemed to be coherent words.

“Yooouuu kiilllldd Dddduuuucckkkkss.” 

“Ducks,” I replied. “Won’t be alone for long.”

The warwolf broke into a full sprint as I calmly loaded my shotgun with a couple of shells. I snap at it closed and took aim, but I didn’t anticipate just how fast it was. Before I knew it the warwolf bowled right through me and slashed at me with one of its clawed feet. Lucky for me my combat training kicked in and I was able to roll through the charge. Then by using my feet I was able to send it hurtling past me to crash into the shell of a long abandoned car nearby. Seriously what combat training, not remembering anything past today is really pissing me off!

I turned into a defensive stance reaching for my shotgun only to discover that during the impact it was thrown a good hundred feet away from me. No chance of me making it in time as the warwolf charged at me again. I drew my two blades out and braced once again for impact. This time I caught the warwolf off guard by leaping above its charge but it quickly recovered, reaching up with one of its front claws and slamming me hard to the ground. Pinned underneath I crisscrossed my blades against its throat. The warwolf lowered its head close to mine.

“Yooouuu kiilllldd Dddduuuucckkkkss and I …am so ….hungry.”  

At first I couldn’t catch my breath, but I suddenly realized that it wasn’t my breath I could catch, but it was my life-force  that it was beginning to drain. I tried to move, but I couldn’t.

The world began to fade away. Not even alive for …four …hou….

KA-BLAM!  

---

“Is she going to be alright?”

“I’m not sure”

“Any idea of who she might be associated with?”

“Mum is the lady going to be ok?”

The voices. I can’t tell where they are coming from, but I can hear them ….somewhat.

“Look Mum, her eyes are opening. She’s alive!”

“What should we do?”

“She saved our lives. We just can’t leave her here.”

The voices. Don’t leave me here.

“Quick Timothy go get me the canteen. Quick boy!”

The voices. One is called Timothy. Timothy.

“Mum look at all her tattoos.”

“I see them Sarah now just hush for a moment please.”

Mum. Sarah. Timothy. The voices have names, but who are they?

“Here Dad.”

Something cool splashing into my mouth. Gritty, yet refreshing. Water. The other voice… Dad. 

“Dad I can see her…”

“Cover your eyes Timothy! Better yet take your sister over there for a moment.”

“But Dad!”

“GO!”

“Do as your father says and take your sister with you.”

The voices becoming clearer. Head is pounding.

“Look.”

I open my blurred eyes and look up at a man and a woman staring down at me. Late thirties, maybe early forties. They look like they have had a rough life. I push myself up and cough vigorously. The man hands me the canteen and I take another long drink from it.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“No it’s us who should be thanking you,” replied the woman giddily. “If you hadn’t had come along we surely would have been dead by now.”

“Don’t mention it,” I coughed. “I do have one question for you please.”

“Uh …sure,” replied the man.

“What year is it?”

“What year is it,” they both almost responded in unison.

“I’ll explain in a little moment, but I would really like to know what year it is.”

The man cleared his throat and answered. “Well it’s …umm …its Twenty Fifty-One.”

Twenty Fifty-One he said. Twenty-four years after the date on the paper. Good news is that most residual radiation has probably been decayed to non-lethal levels. Bad news is twenty-four years later and it doesn’t look like recovery has gone well at all.

What have I awoken to?

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NEXT ISSUE: Sleeper!