Date: Sun, 25 Sep 2005 23:24:29 +0000
From: William Rutherford <oreokid18@hotmail.com>
Subject: Forgotten Voices

Notes to Consider

This is not a story about a sex(although erotic content may be in it)

This is not a story about a fantasy someone dreamed a couple of nights ago
and decided to write it down for you guys to read.

This is not a story about love, happiness, drugs or anything you might do
to someone if you thought they'd agree to it.

This is not a short story for you to enjoy while your on a break at work.



And as I have now filtered out the non-intellectuals, I would like to tell
you that this is more than just a story. It is a novel, with chapters,
actual dialogue rather than irrational sex and moreover: it is a realistic
( Well, that's for you to decide) fictional ( Although characters are real
people) portrayal of how different the landscape of our world would be
today, if events in the past had been altered. I will keep up with the
chapters although you will have to take into consideration that as a
student I am in full time education. As my first piece of fictional writing
I appreciate any comments which will be promptly responded to.

Regards - William Rutherford. (oreokid18@hotmail.com)


Prologue -The Incident


	It was 4.23pm on the 8th of April 1944 when the first blasts
began. Hyde Park was the area of the first explosion, eclipsing London in a
fiery nucleas of heat, light and radiation.Within a thousandth of a second
the new mini-sun had built into a crescendo of deadly vapour, expanding
throughout the city in which many onlooking Londoners merely stood in awe,
or perhaps in acceptance of their fate. The immense heat was already
burning through flesh before the thought of making their way to any form of
shelter could even materialise, and only now did the bomb sirens scream
through the warm summer evening. The timing in between explosions was
vital, as a stampede of all types of class and backgrounds: navvies;
gentlemen; market traders; Soldiers home on leave; fought their way to the
underground stations scattered across London. Many were crushed as the
'stiff upper lip' mentality was ditched for survival of the
fittest... Fighting to exist, the man-made caverns that people took shelter
in shuddered to the very foundations, but resisted the pressure from the
goings on above ground. After some time, the silence returned,all apart
from the constant wailing of the sirens. Their time would come... the
vapours of the blast would soon be seeping slowly into the tunnels. Four
more explosions followed.

Our war was finally over... not that it even mattered anymore. Only the
cunning remained, the cautious, born of something more than fear of their
natural enemies, an evolution born of a loss that could never be replaced
with anything but guilt and anger. Now the event had changed thier pattern
of progression, making them alien even to their own kind.

	The initial nuclear explosions lasted only several minutes, the
black mushroom clouds rising high above the now devasted city, and joining
to form the giant black clouds that hung over London. It wasn't anytime at
all before the ash and debris began to fall back to the ground. But now it
was no longer a matter of dust and powder. It was something more. A
different harbinger of death. After the first several days, the survivors
slowly surfaced, but like the landscape of London they too had changed. No
longer a united front, they scavenged and pillaged what was left of one of
the greatest cities of the world. With no army, no gentry, no law, the
normal order of life had dissapated, and the horror of reality had been
embedded in the people like the cancer eating at the skin of the
landscape. There wasn't going to be any all -clear warnings from the
air-raid sirens this time. This was the beginning of the end.


Chapter 1 - Fortunate Fools

	He Squirmed and Kicked out at the debris that had covered his legs
and torso and, found to his amazement, that there was nothing solid keeping
him in place. Once he was on his feet, he spat out the dust that had filled
his lungs, lifted up the bottom of his shirt and cleared his eyes. The
basement he had fell into was almost pitch black, but a small tint of light
gleamed from the corridor he had obviously come through. The Sirens had
started up and he choked again on the fine dust he had inhaled, and checked
himself over to see if everything felt okay. Good - He was alive for
now. The boy pushed through the debris to the bottom of the staircase, only
to hear the sound of the gale force winds pushing against the building - A
thoughtful present from the blast, creating more death and destruction in
its wake. He felt the building shift around him and once more attempted to
climb up the staircase, not wanting to be on the recieving end of the many
floors above that the office block pertained.'If you go outside you'll be
hit by rubble' said a nervous voice in the corner of the room. Rupert
glanced back 'The whole lot's going to come down soon, we've got to get out
of here' 'I cant see anything, I think I'm blind' the man gasped, his
features now being slowly revealed to the boy as his eyes adjusted to the
light. The man was in his mid-fifties, and was smartly dressed in a black
suit, now a blotchy grey, with his bowler hat still placed neatly on his
grey head. His head was moving around constantly, almost as if he was
searching for his own sight 'either way we're beat old boy' he observed,
and moved a dusty hand to his knee where he rubbed a small wound. 'I'm
staying here, and if I were you I'd do the same' he said flatly.  'We've
got no choice! If we don't leave before the debris begins to settle we'll
be done for!' and with that, he began to look for his leather school
satchel under the plaster and masonry scatterd on the floor.  'Foolish boy,
you'll die out there' the man was beginning to raise his voice now, his
final terror of reality being understood at that moment 'Don't leave me
here on my own you blaggard!'  'Come with me then; We'll go to a shelter;
or the underground. Anywhere but here!' Rupert retorted. He didn't like
being chastised like this, he was almost 16 and felt under no obligation to
be ordered around by anyone under any circumstances. He had always been
single minded, knew what he wanted, and right now he was getting out of
this death trap. He began to climb up the stairs again, stopping halfway up
to begrudgingly wish the man 'good luck.'  'WAIT' he shouted back, and
Rupert reluctantly slinked back to the bottom of the stairs, cringing as
the plaster and masonry dropped from the ceiling. The man took his hand
away from his knee momentarily, and pulled out a set of keys from his
waistcoat pocket. 'take these' he opened his hand and thrusted it forward '
there's a shelter deep underneath my shop, I don't know if the shop's still
there but its lower underground than this place, I can't walk it like this
but at least you might have a chance... ... Go on take them!'  he pushed
his hand out farther and Rupert obliged by making his way over to the
corner snatching them from his hand. The man grasped his elbow before he
could withdraw and tugged it down so both their faces were inches apart
'its a few hundred yards away, a tailor shop on at the bottom of Oxford
Street. ' His breath was becoming more shallow as he gasped for air in the
dusty celler. At that very moment, as fast as it had come, the wind
stopped. The remnants of the blast passing by. Temporary
silence. Temporary. The man let go, and without a second look back Rupert
raced up the stairs, jumping over the debris as he went.

	It was utter carnage. The silence now replaced with the whimpers
and screams of those outside, the injured inconsolable and the uninjured to
shocked to move. Rupert stopped himself and gazed in astonishment and the
smoke, ash and bodies that lay scattered all along the street. Metres away
a large section of wall crashed beside him, toppling over from the building
he had just occupied. He winced with pain, and looked down at his exposed
legs to see that he was in fact nursing a few scratches from his fall into
the basement. 'just ignore them' he thought, and began to run full pelt
down to the bottom of Oxford street, weaving and dodging the horrific
scenes that no one, especially a boy, could comprehend. He could not turn
away from it. Vehicles - Buses, Black Taxis, Lorry's. All dissarranged and
upturned, some with the unfortunate drivers still occupying them. Rupert
took cover behind a black taxi, choking out the dust and smoke that filled
the evening air, preventing him from breathing well enough to run any
longer. He leaned up against the black taxi, flinching when he saw the
jumpled corpses that occupied it. There was a child in there, a little boy
no more than five or six years old, his head rested against a shoulder at
an impossible angle; a woman's arm, presumably his mothers, was flung
protectively across his tiny chest. A day out to the park? A trip to the
Zoo? Perhaps even to see Daddy in his big office. Their day had been ended
when the cab had been picked up and thrown through the air like some kids
toy, it's weight nothing to the forces that had lifted it. For the first
time he took in the devastation and his eyes widened with the horror of it
all. Fires raged everywhere, the tall buildings, ancient steeples,
instantly recognizable landmarks all extinguished beyond repair. He looked
up and the dark sky, a spiralling column, the dark symbol of the holocaust
looming over the remaining people of London. Rupert lowered his gaze and
slammed the flat of his hand against the roof. He had witnessed it. The
ultimate evilness of man. The destructive force inherent in every man woman
and child. 'Fuck it'


	The bodies were everywhere, many of them charred black, already
disintergrating as the wind was beginning to pick up again. He averted his
eyes from the limbs protruding from the rubble and upturned vehicles, but
almost retched when his foot caught a young woman's head and part of her
shoulder, the rest of her nowhere to be seen. After skirting around a
burning lorry, Rupert came across his destination.

	It was a very small shop, which may be why the windows had not
disintergrated yet, but it was still intact and well placed next to the
ominous presence of Oxford Street bank - probably why it had sustained very
little damage. He took the keys out of his school satchel and fumbled to
find the right one. 'Come on' he muttered under his breath as one key after
another was put in the lock and failed to release. The wailing and moaning
began again, and then the sound of another blast on the other side of the
thames drowned out the pitiful screams of the survivors. Death was
breathing down his neck. He put the second to last key in the lock and it
flicked open, and with a sharp push he was inside.


	The shop was still in perfect condition, its suits and delicate
fabriques untouched throughout the whole ordeal, only soot and dust seemed
to litter the floor of the shop from the rafters. He looked around the shop
before turning back to the carnage that lay past the shop window, people
running, many still wearing gas masks, some crawling just to get somewhere
underground, they all had a goal to reach, something to aim for, and
neither man nor woman wanted to be distracted from this pupose. It was
their only defence against the horror. He averted his eyes, almost feeling
unworthy of seeing such terror, and as he turned away something caught the
corner of his eye. He looked back to see a small boy on the floor, bent
over double choking on the dust and ash that filled the air. The school
blazer that was probably once a deep shade of cream was now grey and faded,
and his school shorts almost matching the ashen colour of his legs, making
it seem as though he was wearing trousers. No longer standing, the boy sank
to his knees, and then completely toppled over as a terrified man sprinted
past him. He was already beginning to accept his fate when Rupert's
conscience again got the better of him. He flicked back the lock and pulled
back the door, the screaming and wailing suddenly becoming a deafening roar
once again. He reached out for the boy, who by now seemed completely
unconcious, and grabbed a clump of the boy's jumper, dragging him through
into the shop, closing the door and flicking the lock as the other
horrified survivors continued their journey to the train tunnels.

They were soon at the entrance to the shelter, Rupert dragging the lifeless
body with both of the boy's under-arms grasped tightly in his shaking
hands. He was starting to think that his 'noble' gesture had been wasted,
and he was only bringing back a dead body until the boy coughed a little,
and twitched as he was pulled through an iron door at the very bottom of
the staircase. Rupert swung the iron door closed, and as the darkness
enveloped them, he gently dropped the boy and blindly fumbled with the
catch on his satchel, trying to retrieve the matches he had taken from a
previous scout trip. After lighting it, he stumbled around the room,
finally finding a box of candles and a victorian oil lamp. His shoulders
slouched and his head bent forward as he fiddled with the oil lamp, finally
giving up on it for the candles when he realised there was no wick. He lit
three, and placed them around the shelter, the dim light revealing the
vastness of the place. It was like walking into a boutique, the long rolls
of different exotic fabrics littered the shelves on one side the room, the
other side being taken up by a large wardrobe and dresser. A large oak
edwardian table finished the look off, placed neatly at the center of the
room. The walls were covered in planking which had oringinally matched the
uncarpeted flooring; rough boots had removed any sheen that may have been
on the floor at one time. It was obviously a place of buissness dealings,
something Rupert momentarily considered a little suspicious when the man's
trade involved suits. The dusty haze of ash from their entrance lingered in
the room, and Rupert blinked his eyes for a second or two before his mind
went back to the boy. He picked up a candle, and while holding a light over
the boy's forehead, he tapped him with his index finger. The boy stirred,
coughing and spluttering ash as he rolled on his side to choke out the
contents of his lungs. He was older than Rupert had first thought, his
school hat no longer covering what he had imagined to be a boy as young as
11. He now looked a good 14, His hair a light blond, and although it was
now an ashen grey the colour was still apparent. He looked asleep, albeit
his furrowed brow revealing the more sinister story Rupert knew only too
well. The rest of the boy was unrecognizable, the colour of his once light
skin now a dark cloudy grey. 'Hello?' Rupert whispered softly in the boys
ear, the inquizitive tone familiar to a butler answering the door to an
uninvited guest. The boy made no reply, but instead rolled onto his back
again, tilting his head upwards to let the oxygen flow more easily into his
lungs. Rupert knew instantly what the boy wanted, his own throat burning
with the fine dust he had inhaled. He again rummaged through his satchel,
pulling out a tattered army flask that his brother had given him the last
time they saw each other. He twisted open the top and took large hungry
gulps of the water and, Once his own thirst was satiated, he put the top of
the flask to the boy's mouth and tipped a generous amount down his
throat. He choked momentarily, but then began to drink heartily from the
large flask, only breaking to breath before taking more grateful gulps of
the cold liquid. Rupert took out a hankerchief from his jacket pocket and
wiped the dirt and grime from his own face, another explosion breaking
through the silence and making him flinch. How many of these bombs were
they going to drop? The devastation of one could kill hundreds of
thousands! Are they just going to eradicate us all?  Incinerating people or
charring them to nothing? Killing every single thing within a radius of 2
miles? He stopped himsef before the urge to go off on a tangent grew too
much, and went back to dabbing his face with the hankerchief. As the dust
was removed his features became human again under the soft glow of the
candlelight. A thin round nose appeared, followed by a small mouth that
accentuated the short mousy hair that swept over his forehead. He would
have done the same for the boy, but an overwhelming urge to close his eyes
took over him. Maybe if he went to sleep he'd wake up in the real world
again, something more substantial than this hour of complete madness, where
civility and humanity were neccessity and he wasnt alone anymore. Rupert
gingerly sat on the floor. Well - He wasn't alone now was he? He turned to
look over at the boy, who still lay sprawled across the floor. He was
breathing heavily now, a deep sleep had overcome him. Maybe it was for the
best, after all the boy had probably witnessed more horrors than himself. A
defence mechanism inside him must have triggerd it, an attempt to block out
the pain and memories witnessed that day. Rupert thought about his family
for a moment.Tiny, glittering beads formed at the corners of each eye, one
brimming over and leaving a silver trail down to his chin. For the boy, the
day was over, but for Rupert; The shaking of his hands and the rumblings of
the shifting earth prevented him from resting till the early hours of the
morning.

	It was the boy who startled him, his face anxiously gazing at
Rupert, as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light of the candles.

'You're awake.'