The Prophecy (Watty Awards 2013)

Chapter 2

II

The belligerent, cantankerous fighting had been going on for some months now and the only times Lozada had witnessed the wrath of the collective he had come away with fearsome injuries. On day 27, the collective leader had fired his infamous rifle, the most powerful weapon left, and Lozada was left bleeding on the ground like a gazelle torn down by a lion. Day 34, he had been tricked and had shark-teeth sharp arrowheads left in his right thigh from expert Collectives. Day 78, he had recovered from previous injuries but this would be a permanent disfigurement; a flame grenade detonated next to him. His shoulder was left scalded. The scars were humiliating but a constant reminder of the “new world” he lived in and the on-going dangers that surrounded him.

What added insult to injury was the fact the Collective had already annihilated his old “home”: a makeshift tunnel of soft underground soil and an old 1982 shed roof. Therefore he was just living day by day sleeping at any available space in the hell-hole of the once spectacular London city. It held the hand-full of known survivors, an unofficial sanctum of the deranged, insane, and the psychopathic. Day 91 since the apocalypse, he had been officially targeted by The Frenzy; a rogue organization stealing people’s lives and selling them for slaves, or bribes. Lozada had been on the run for at least a couple of months and because of the desert weather food was extremely scarce and water or any other drink, impossible to find. In 90 days he had eaten 4 Jaffa Cakes, a packet of Mini Cheddars, and a raw, rotten, and rancid piece of beef. He had drunk only a bottle of Sunny D and a can of Red Bull.

Fortunately for him he still had loyal friends that assisted him with everything; they somehow knew he would be the one to solve everything.  Logan was his brother in-law, real name Thomas Logan, aged thirty three; he had grey hair already, he was considered the OAP of the group, and was the tactician. Blake, real name Kevin Blake, aged twenty four, Lozada’s long-time friend; he had a messy afro and was from Bermuda, he knew how to handle arsenal or turn anything into a murderous weapon. Finally Tyson, retired personal trainer aged twenty one; injury galore but still soldiering on. He was still the quickest and smartest of the group; good defensively and offensively, he was the all-rounder. Luckily for the group he was very subtly manipulative; able to get information of anybody he pleased. Lozada had specially selected these three companions as he would need their expertise and he knew one day he would be part of something bigger. Much bigger.