Index-
X Prologue
X Chapter One
X Chapter Two
X Chapter Three
X Chapter Four
X Chapter Five
X Chapter Six
X Chapter Seven
Sandro
The thieves had entered calmly through my front door. Like most people I had no time to worry about security. The best I could do was basic wooden bolt lock on the inside, but this did little to keep out intruders when no one was home.
I didn’t really care though. The item that were stolen was stuff that looked the most valuable, but were really just red herrings. Bed clothes would have been the hardest thing to replace, that was if I had planned on staying, but I was only there to salvage a few possessions before heading to get the runaway packs.
My heart swelled with bittersweet memories as I gathered the necessities. It hurt to leave the place where my parents brought me up but I knew of all people, they would want me to go. I had little more to go on than rumour, but I figured the best chance I had was to head for my one of my fathers old friends.
After my parents failed to return, a lady had showed up. She was clearly from the city and she was kind enough to Sophie and I, but I couldn’t help clenching my fists at her snobby attitude. After introducing herself as Rosaline Poulter, she went on to further explain that her and her husband had been close to my parents.
“We owe your father a great debt,” Mrs Poulter continued, “And we’d be happy to help you two out of this unfortunate situation.” She said the words with distaste and, with the loss of my parents still fresh, I had felt extremely offended.
“We’re get by,” I retorted through clenched teeth, “We may be in a state, but we’re better off than most.”
Mrs Poulter had been a little taken back. “I guess that’s your decision.” She’d noted skeptically, “But if you ever need something, be sure to tell us. My husband has good contacts.” Mrs Poulter had then handed me a card and briskly left.
I scratched my fingers through the box where I stored what little paper I came into contact with. I was rewarded with the posh card I had been looking for. When I was handed it I had only decided to keep it as a reminder. I found it as snobby as it’s former owner, a slightly off white with patterned lilac borders and fancy calligraphy writing, and decided it would be perfect to revive the memory of Mrs Poulter’s ego.
A few years back though a rumour had surfaced that the man at the head of Poulter Industries was actually a key member in the resistance. Normally I would dismiss such chatter but that one had stuck when I recalled the conversation with Mrs Poulter. She had said her husband had good contacts, and I guessed she could have been hinting at his position in the resistance. There was no hard evidence, but it was better than nothing.
I only took the last remaining knife, an empty water jug and Sophie’s teddy bear. I gazed sadly at the small toy. Before Mum and Dad were taken it used to be mine, but I had felt the battered grubby bear would be more loved by my six year old sister rather than the breadwinning thirteen year old boy that I was.
I sighed with the knowledge that it was the only keepsake I could afford to take. I would have loved to take the photo album my mother had treasured, or the pack of coloured pencils my father had found for me. I wish I could have taken everything that had a happy memory tied to it, but I knew it was best to travel light.
Next, I headed for the runaway packs. The world was an uncertain place. War had broken out in China, Australia and parts of Russia. Brazil’s government was in ashes after the country was attacked by a fierce deadly disease. Gangs and vigilante groups ruled the streets of India, and Spain was now one of the most dangerous places to live.
The point is that I had always been aware that a disaster might strike at any moment, and I had to be ready to move. So I had created the runaway packs. There were two runaway packs that each held a spare change of clothes, a filled water bottle, and hunting supplies. Between the both of them though they had one amazing luxury, a sleeping bag. I felt like the luckiest person on earth when I found it for sale. Usually the things cost hundreds so no one bothers coming to the poorer areas to sell them, but I got it for a rabbit from a man who said it had belonged to someone who no longer had a need for it.
After I retrieved the bags from their hiding place amongst the roots of a tree, I started my journey. The sun baked the road, so I stuck to cool shadows of the trees.
The walk would take at least a day, lucky for me the man lived in the closest rich town, but I wasn’t worried. I was determined.
X Prologue
X Chapter One
X Chapter Two
X Chapter Three
X Chapter Four
X Chapter Five
X Chapter Six
X Chapter Seven
Sandro
The thieves had entered calmly through my front door. Like most people I had no time to worry about security. The best I could do was basic wooden bolt lock on the inside, but this did little to keep out intruders when no one was home.
I didn’t really care though. The item that were stolen was stuff that looked the most valuable, but were really just red herrings. Bed clothes would have been the hardest thing to replace, that was if I had planned on staying, but I was only there to salvage a few possessions before heading to get the runaway packs.
My heart swelled with bittersweet memories as I gathered the necessities. It hurt to leave the place where my parents brought me up but I knew of all people, they would want me to go. I had little more to go on than rumour, but I figured the best chance I had was to head for my one of my fathers old friends.
After my parents failed to return, a lady had showed up. She was clearly from the city and she was kind enough to Sophie and I, but I couldn’t help clenching my fists at her snobby attitude. After introducing herself as Rosaline Poulter, she went on to further explain that her and her husband had been close to my parents.
“We owe your father a great debt,” Mrs Poulter continued, “And we’d be happy to help you two out of this unfortunate situation.” She said the words with distaste and, with the loss of my parents still fresh, I had felt extremely offended.
“We’re get by,” I retorted through clenched teeth, “We may be in a state, but we’re better off than most.”
Mrs Poulter had been a little taken back. “I guess that’s your decision.” She’d noted skeptically, “But if you ever need something, be sure to tell us. My husband has good contacts.” Mrs Poulter had then handed me a card and briskly left.
I scratched my fingers through the box where I stored what little paper I came into contact with. I was rewarded with the posh card I had been looking for. When I was handed it I had only decided to keep it as a reminder. I found it as snobby as it’s former owner, a slightly off white with patterned lilac borders and fancy calligraphy writing, and decided it would be perfect to revive the memory of Mrs Poulter’s ego.
A few years back though a rumour had surfaced that the man at the head of Poulter Industries was actually a key member in the resistance. Normally I would dismiss such chatter but that one had stuck when I recalled the conversation with Mrs Poulter. She had said her husband had good contacts, and I guessed she could have been hinting at his position in the resistance. There was no hard evidence, but it was better than nothing.
I only took the last remaining knife, an empty water jug and Sophie’s teddy bear. I gazed sadly at the small toy. Before Mum and Dad were taken it used to be mine, but I had felt the battered grubby bear would be more loved by my six year old sister rather than the breadwinning thirteen year old boy that I was.
I sighed with the knowledge that it was the only keepsake I could afford to take. I would have loved to take the photo album my mother had treasured, or the pack of coloured pencils my father had found for me. I wish I could have taken everything that had a happy memory tied to it, but I knew it was best to travel light.
Next, I headed for the runaway packs. The world was an uncertain place. War had broken out in China, Australia and parts of Russia. Brazil’s government was in ashes after the country was attacked by a fierce deadly disease. Gangs and vigilante groups ruled the streets of India, and Spain was now one of the most dangerous places to live.
The point is that I had always been aware that a disaster might strike at any moment, and I had to be ready to move. So I had created the runaway packs. There were two runaway packs that each held a spare change of clothes, a filled water bottle, and hunting supplies. Between the both of them though they had one amazing luxury, a sleeping bag. I felt like the luckiest person on earth when I found it for sale. Usually the things cost hundreds so no one bothers coming to the poorer areas to sell them, but I got it for a rabbit from a man who said it had belonged to someone who no longer had a need for it.
After I retrieved the bags from their hiding place amongst the roots of a tree, I started my journey. The sun baked the road, so I stuck to cool shadows of the trees.
The walk would take at least a day, lucky for me the man lived in the closest rich town, but I wasn’t worried. I was determined.
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