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Ginny Watson


Layout Copyright © 2018 by PMO Publishing. Published 2018 by PMO Publishing. E-book design by PMO Publishing. Cover art by PMO Publishing. Contact:

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the authors permission.

Authors note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

Chapter 1

They say it started in Africa.

Poor old Africa always gets the blame, but in this case it may actually be true because there were reports of pygmy tribes in the deep Congo that displayed signs of infection long before the virus spread.

Dave Lambert remembered reading about it. Correction, he chuckled softly, he vaguely remembered some guy on the train discussing it with a fellow commuter. Dave hadn’t given a damn, what happened in the 3rd World should stay there. His view on life wasn’t particularly wide, he didn’t really care what was going on in the next town leave alone another continent, David was content to live a day to day existence, he had no plans to travel and see new sights, he had no intention of ever broadening his mind so he rarely opened a book, his focus was sports, any sport. And there again he displayed an unfathomable apathy because, come the world championships, Olympics, world cup, he didn’t need to know where the event was being held, he simply cared to watch.

So he was one of the last to know about the virus, and ironically he turned out to be one of only a handful of humans who was immune.


Only weeks after the initial reports began to creep out on television and social media the contagion had most of the developed world in its grip, daily Dave watched his friends succumb, nervously he waited his turn. Suddenly he’d developed a taste for world events and spent hours glued to the channels that still aired. One by one they disappeared, the streets steadily grew quieter as cars and pedestrians vanished, shops closed and didn’t reopen. Next the electricity and water supply failed, and he had grown so used to hearing the constant hum from the high tension power lines that passed over his small terraced house that the silence of absence was almost deafening.

Then came the day that he stepped from his front door in search of food and water, and found the streets completely deserted. Not one car. Not one person, only a thin and scruffy dog showed that he wasn’t the very last living creature on the face of the earth.

Now many would say that to think of his family only at that exact moment displayed his total lack of soul, but in his defence David was actually a very idle and apathetic man, so the tardiness of his familial concern could be forgiven, after all he had thought of them before his friends from work or his steady girlfriend of the past four years, that in itself showed that he cared.

None of them have come to find me he told himself as he wandered the empty streets looking for a bicycle, like so many city dwellers he’d never bothered learning to drive, So they must have been infected. David swallowed hard as realisation struck him, infected! What I really mean is… dead!

Everyone was dead, everyone he had ever know was dead. Everyone he could have known in the future was dead, and as he wandered street after street alone he began to wonder if he truly was the only one still alive.

Mum and Dad. He sighed. Angie, his eighteen year old sister. They were gone, forever.

Cutting down a side alley that he knew was a shortcut Dave discovered a five speed racing bike secured to a cast iron drainpipe, the chain was thin and the padlock cheap and weak, and after stamping twice on the dangling loop between bicycle frame and sturdy downpipe a link opened, and seconds later he was pedalling away with his stolen prize.

Except it isn’t really stolen he told himself. With everyone else gone, forever, I guess I just inherited everything, so this is really my bike.

And I can move into a better house. That thought brought a small smile to his lips. His lack of drive had kept him in the same job for five years without advancement. His current house was all he could afford on his salary, and despite dreaming of the good things in life his apathy always prevented him from striving or advancing.

I own every house, every car… and every bank account. Dave chuckled as he slowed on the high street and stopped in front of an ATM that displayed nothing but a blank and lifeless screen.

Dead like everyone else he told himself and prepared to ride on, only to pause, the main doors of the bank stood ajar. They were infected so quickly they didn’t even get chance to lock up he thought, and leaning the bicycle against the wall he stepped forward and pushed the door open wide.

Don’t be a dumb-ass he rebuked silently as he braced for the sound of alarms, there hasn’t been any power for days, there won’t be any alarm, and even if there was there aren’t any cops alive anyway.

Inside the banking hall he stood and stared, all around were cameras, surveillance equipment. To the side of the tellers windows stood an electronic security door, usually accessed by swiping a card it, like the front doors, stood wide open.

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