Brink

Chapter 5: Silence of London

Chapter 5

Nick

14-12-2019

Nick sat on the hood of the abandoned car. The 33-year-old man stared numbly across the barren and empty street. It was something around noon. The thin layer of ice on the asphalt glistened in the sunlight.

‘Global warming my ass…’ Nick whispered to himself, as he inhaled the smoke of his cigarette. The nicotine gave him a little kick as the tobacco entered his lungs.

‘You hear me, Nick?’

Nick’s radio cracked. He took it off his belt.

‘Hey, Rory. What’s up?’

‘You’re on Oxford Street, right?’

‘Uhhh, yeah, why?’

‘Get underground, fast. You’re close to Oxford Circus.’

‘Why, what’s going on?’

‘Move. Quickly. Contact me when you get there.’

Nick shrugged. Rory had always been a bit weird, but he knew that when Rory was serious, the situation was serious. He got up from the hood of the car and wiped the cold humidity off his arse. He picked up his tactical crossbow from the ground with his left hand as he took a deep inhalation from his cigarette, before dropping the perfectly rolled tobacco to the frosty ground. Nick had gotten his crossbow as a 25th birthday present. He slung the weapon over his shoulder as he made his way down the wide street. He had a pouch with bolts on his belt.

He still remembered Oxford Street like it had been, only five years ago. A busy and buzzy street, with thousands of people on the sidewalks and cars and buses racing by on the asphalt. Now, it was empty. It was barren. Only the odd abandoned, rusty and broken car dotted the long and wide street. The grey asphalt had been broken up by the frosts of the winters before this one. In less than 2 weeks, it’d be Christmas.

Nick was dressed in thick layers of clothing, army pants and army boots. He had tight black leather gloves to warm his hands. He put his earplugs into his ears and turned on the music on his iPod. A few years ago, he would have been classified as a metal-head, due to his taste in music, long black hair, and clothing style. Now, he was classified as a survivor. Nothing more than that, and nothing less. The city was eerily quiet, especially in comparison to Nick’s memories. But then again, faded gunshots and screams did not top Nick’s music, even though he had it on soft. He was one of the few people who were able to listen to heavy metal while it was on soft. Most had to put it on louder, to “feel” the music.

Nick strolled calmly over Oxford Street. Even though Rory had had a serious tone to his voice, Nick knew that he was a man who exaggerated. He saw nothing interesting or peculiar on his way to the tube-station. He stared at the “Underground” board for a few seconds. Nick used to take the tube every day to his work. He’d pass this stop every morning and evening, as he took the Victoria line.

He took a hold of the cold metal railing of the stairs and descended into the station. The air became thick and colder, and a stench of death filled Nick’s nostrils. The disease was almost like the pest. As soon as the virus had descended from the sky and inserted itself into the populace, the transmission via air had started to become less and less effective. However, it was always best to burn the dead, as the pathogen lived off the dead cells of the corpses. Every corpse was, in that way, a transmitter of the virus.