Chapter Text
John didn't know much about the world outside the army base where he grew up and learned to practice basic medicine. He didn't even know how old he was, but if he strained his memory he could remember about thirty Christmases.
The base had been overrun by zombies and everyone had been killed but John, who miraculously got away. It was the morgue personnel that had made simple, but deadly, mistake of not burning one of their dead in time.
How ever healthy you were, you were still infected, and you always turned to a zombie after you died.
He had held out for a very long, lonely and cold winter. His only company had been his undead friends and family that were not decomposing, though slowly starving, in the snow outside.
When spring arrived he had decapitated them all before heat got back in their dead limbs.
He then decided to head for the ruins of London.
It had taken him three months to walk. He only deviated to hunt, seek shelter, or to scavenge. It was now the height of summer when he arrived to the outskirts of the city.
That was now five years ago. Five years alone in an abandoned city. Still it was better than on the base with all it's bad memories.
He hummed on an old melody as he adjusted the crossbow that hung over his shoulder.
He liked it here. Even though the large city had been abandoned for several decades and overgrown with vines and other vegetation it still spoke of its times of glory.
It also offered good protection from the zombies.
Well, it would have offered good protection if there were any zombies left to seek protection from. He hadn't seen a single one since entering the city.
Still, John kept his crossbow with him at all times, and practiced it when ever he had a chance. At least he could hunt for his food more safely now that he no longer had any undead to shoot.
He also carried an axe strapped to his backpack.
John had set up base in a flat he had found on his first day exploring. It wasn't big or fancy, but that was just how he liked it. It was important to keep thing simple.
Though he wouldn't mind some company.
Not that he was alone, a small league of cats seemed to have adopted him, but he longed for some human interaction.
During the winters he hibernated, sleeping away the cold as much as he could to preserve energy. It was a trick he had learned from the cats.
Sometimes he wondered if he was the last not dead man alive on Earth. Reading old books and seeing pictures of people being friends and lovers only made him more alone.
There was always at least five of cats in the flat. He had no idea how they got in but he liked the company. John's favourite was large orange-coloured one that he had named 'Gladstone'.
Gladstone seemed to follow him everywhere.
Today John and Gladstone was out exploring the castle by the river. According to the 'The London A-Z', one of his favourite books as a child, there was where the British Government had lived. It had one large tower with a clock on it.
There had once been a large bridge there as well, but now there was just rubble. John guessed it had been destroyed to keep zombies on the other side of the river.
The clock on the tower was stuck on twelve minutes past five. John often wondered if it had been morning or evening when it stopped.
The water looked lovely, and the day was hot, so John decided to take a dip. There had been a lake near the base so John had learned to swim and fish at a young age.
John took off his backpack. He placed the crossbow and the axe so that they would be easy to reach in a event of emergency. Zombies never moved into the water.
He placed his clothes and shoes in a pile next to the pack, and climbed naked into the water. John avoided looking at his own reflection, or his body, knowing he would only feel bad if he did.
He could see down to the bottom. There was a lot of old junk down there, even cars. But there was also a lot of fish swimming around.
"See that Gladstone?" he asked the cat by the edge of the water. "We will be eating like kings tonight."
John took one of his arrows, put it in his mouth, and swam out into the water. It was glorious. The water tasted a bit of iron, but wasn't bad.
Gladstone sat by the river edge, basking in the sun.
John looked down and saw a large shoal of fish. He took a deep breath and dived. He took the arrow in his hand. Swimming a few calm strokes he shot out his arm and stabbed a fish through the gill.
The other fish scattered and John swam to the surface with his catch. The fish was about the size of his hand. John broke its neck quickly since he didn't like to see it suffer.
He swam to the shore, placing the fish out of Gladstone's reach. The cat didn't seem to care, but John had his dinner eaten by cats before.
He caught a few more fishes before sitting down enjoying the sun, drying off on the remains of the bridge.
Then there was a noise. A noise John had never heard before. He stood up and listened.
It was a kind of engine. John hasn't heard an engine since the army base, and nothing like this.
An engine meant people.
John quickly pulled his trousers on. He wrapped the fish in his shirt, and put it in his backpack.
The noise seemed to be coming from the other side of the castle. John got the pack on, and took his weapons. The crossbow was in his left hand and the axe in his right.
Coming around the corner John saw a helicopter hovering a not far from the ground. He had only seen helicopters in pictures before. It was amazing.
Then a door opened on the side of the helicopter. John stepped back, hiding behind a pile of rubble.
A rope was lowered down to the ground. John held his breath as a man, all dressed in white, slid down the rope and landed smoothly on the ground.
TBC