Gideon walked throughout the abandoned alleys and back streets that filed the city. A wind picked up, twirling the leaves and ancient newspapers around his feet. A sign squeaked overhead as it rocked back and forth.
“Welcome to London” It read in large golden letters. Surprised it hasn’t rotten yet, Gideon thought to himself. As long as he could remember, London had been known as Sector 33. It had once been a thriving city, London, but now, it was abandoned and full of vacant buildings, only a few hundred people still living within its borders. Gideon had no idea where everyone had gone, it was long before his time. However, his mother used to whisper him stories of a rebellion, in forms of bedtime stories. Gideon still couldn’t tell how much of each of the stories were real, but for some reason, Gideon believed every word of them.
He stood still for a moment, examining the nearby buildings. Each was made of brick, shattered windows high above his head. Black torn curtains blew across the window, the broken shutters on either side of the window squeaked, bumping against the side of the building as the flapped around in the wind. It was an eerie sight, sending shivers down his spine. However, it wasn’t the image that scared Gideon; it was the silence.
A scream sounded in the distance, making Gideon jump. He immediately reached for his cutlass, strapped tightly to his back. He could feel the condensation on its handle and unsheathed it in one strong tug. The blade hummed in the air, extracting energy from the nearby air molecules. Guns had become useless when the new breed of electronic weaponry came into existence.
Gideon ran towards the scream into the thin fog. He heard it again, louder, more crisp in the air; Gideon turned onto the Westminster Bridge. His heart pounded quickly in his chest; his breath quickened as he listened for the scream.
At first nothing.
A second passed, two, nothing.
It was silent for seconds until the scream sounded again along the east bank of the river. Gideon sprinted forward towards the scream. It grew and grew, and then after a loud thud, silence. He found the source: a girl of about 15 or 16 years, lying on the bridge, large slashes visible across her torso. They were clean cuts, too large to heal naturally, blood flowing freely, soaking her clothes.
She was small, probably only five and a half feet tall. She looked like a fragile porcelain doll, her pale complexion dotted with freckles, her light blonde hair resting softly on the bridge.
Gideon had seen many attacks like this in the past year: a few of the victims located in St. Thomas' Hospital, most in the nearby morgues. Her quick, raspy breaths could were labored; her bloodshot eyes were wide and staring darting around, searching for her attacker -- she was, no doubt, terrified of whatever had just happened.
"Calm down." Gideon whispered, kneeling close to the girl. "It'll be okay, just calm down." He took off his trench coat, and draped it over the girl. She was cold to the touch, her face losing what little color it had to it. She was losing blood, too much for her to likely survive. Gideon lifted her into his arms, her head sagging, as she moaned and murmured quietly. Warm sticky blood ran down Gideon's arms and onto his white tee-shirt.
He walked slowly down the bridge, trying to move her as little as possible. His shoes splashed in the puddles, tapping along the asphalt in a rhythmic pattern.
Gideon's foot tapped against something soft, something different. It moaned, a hand wrapping around Gideon's leg. Gideon quickly shifted the girl into one arm, and reached for his cutlass which, he realized was lying where the girl used to be. Luckily, Gideon wasn't completely unarmed.
Reaching under his arm, he quickly exposed his dagger, spinning it around on the palm of his hand firmly placing it under the wrist of the thing holding onto his leg. "Letting go would be a good idea," Gideon said aloud. The hand released its grip and started to protest.
"Don't leave me to die," whispered the hand.
Gideon bent over to re-examine the thing attached to his leg. It was a man dressed in a Bradbury suit, Rolex strapped around his wrist, Italian leather shoes upon his feet. "You can't leave me to die."
"Sorry `bout the suit pal," Gideon said, pulling the man's suit open, exposing his wounds. He had been stabbed multiple times by some sort of electro-draining blade much like his own. He could see the energy leaving his body, his skin losing its color, his breaths becoming more labored.
Gideon placed his hand upon the wound; he could feel the energy still draining from his body, sending tingling sensations through his hand, the current fading into the west. Whatever had killed him had taken the weapon west.
There was no hope for the man and little for the girl. If the girl was going to survive, Gideon had to leave the guy. He pulled his leg away, roughly shaking the man’s grip, re-sheathed his dagger, and headed towards the hospital.
*****
Three days had gone by since the Gideon had found the girl, and no attacks had occurred since. Gideon had wandered the streets, but since his supplies closets were full he had nothing to do. He was a looter, taking what others had left behind. It was easy work but didn't leave him with much to do.
He sat in one of London's many phone booths, running his fingers through his light brown hair. It was raining outside, as it did every morning, or at least for as long he could remember. He had heard once that the sky wasn't always so scorched, and a bright star, bigger than the moon would shine through the clouds in the morning, turning the sky blue, making the rain stop. Gideon looked to the sky, a glint of hope in his green eyes, but just like before, the sky was still gray, dark clouds blanketing it. The sky was shrouded with darkness, just glints of the sky appearing through the darkness.
Gideon preferred the night. He stepped outside the booth, pulling the collar of his trench coat up around his neck. The leather still smelled like the girl from the night before and was thankful with the smell.
Lavender, He thought. It had been years since he had smelled the scent. His mother used to put it on his pillow; she said it helped the mind wander to sleep. Gideon sighed at the thought of his mother. Without warning she died when Gideon was only thirteen, leaving him alone in the lonely Sector 33. She had also said Queen Mab loved the scent of Lavender. However, Gideon didn't believe in Queen Mab. Queen Mab was nothing but a fairy tale, used to keep children doing good deeds.
The rain drops trickled down Gideon's face, splattering on the ground, forming puddles on the sidewalks. He headed down the empty road towards the hospital to check up on the girl. He had nothing better to do. No one to talk to. Everyone who still lived in Sector 33 kept themselves locked up in there little houses,indulging themselves in false realities.
Why was the girl on the streets? Gideon asked himself. She wasn't a looter unlike himself-- too young. That was another thing that concerned him. What would drive someone to attack a 16 year old girl? Rape? He doubted it. Still he wanted to know if she was okay or not. He entered the building, looking directly up into the cameras overhead. He knew that the people inside already knew who he was. Iris scans were required to enter any public building; everyone was tagged, and there was no hiding ones identity anymore.
"Good morning Mister Saoirse" the revolving doors said as he entered the building.
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