Last dream.

Ep 1/pilot: The legend of Whitey Mcfedom!

Author prologue: If I get positive or constructive feedback I may continue with this story. It’s loosely based on one of my continued dreams. I hope that my poor grammar and spelling will not make my story unattractive. The plot is somewhat complicated as its not something I'm thinking of as I go along, I already no what’s going to happen and already made side plots that link back into the past and present. I hope you like what my dreaming mind made!

It was the year 1975 in South England the cop et tat had removed the government and the country had been at war with Nato. The Europeans were trying to remove the general Gregory S Bloggs for power some time now, who had managed to cling onto southern England. The rest of the country had been plunged into the dark ages with little or now electric power nor any support from the out side. Many had fled to France or Ireland but some remained, hoping that Nato would win.

In reality this storyline nearly became true when several English commanders became discontented with the current government and pondered to remove them. At the 11th hour the government backed down on what ever policies had caused the crisis and the commanders reversed their orders for an attack on Whitehall [London].

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HI, my name is Jack, well Jack o bite is what people here call me due to the scars I sustained from midges biting me. Well enough about that, I'm sure you want to no about the man who came here long ago and saved use from the three witches who called him self the ’Blades’ This man who saved us all called him self, err Brown... no no! It was whitey! Whitey McFedom!

Ha ha yes a regular hero who came to this land and saved use from the evil and setting us free! My memory fails me but this is how it went!

It had been raining hard all day and the grey clouds hung low above. The town’s people had finally revolted against their rulers and aided this young stranger. He drew his sword and it glistened brightly and he immediately started to parry with the last of the blade. He would weave in and out, high and low. Blocking her attack and cutting her their and everywhere. She was clad in a black leather outfit with high boots and two curved blades and a menacing black mask that hid much of her face. Now it had been stained with her own blood. You could see her scared, with a few tears coming from her eyes and disbelieve that she could be beaten, but she was. Whitey kicked her blade away and he knelt down before the fallen girl, muttering something that opened her eyes wide open and full of fright, he then promptly chopped her in half!

HAHA the party we had after their demise was something to remember! The self made beer and the fireworks, you had to have been their! It wasn’t so much the party, more the fact it was the turning point and finally we could live free!

You Jack, shut up already, I'm sure he has herd enough of your story! Isn’t that right! Well don’t mind him, he always exaggerates and twists anything that happened two years ago, and that’s not his name you racist prick it was Jazvir! Ill tell you how the story realy went!

[The story didn’t go as I hoped… oh well bring on chapter two.]

Ep2: Home town and beyond!
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The day was somewhat pleasant with the heat of the sun absorbed by the white whiffs of cloud and the ground dry. He path up ahead was clear of people with the overhanging trees casting great dappled shadows that made it almost like a tunnel and a cyclist rode down the dry bare ground quickly.

Jazvir looked at his digital watch with its strap tie missing. The end of the strap floated freely away from his arm. The watch had lost much of its power and the time was barely viable showing 11.43am, just. He looked ahead as he pushed hard onto the peddle to keep his momentum up.

His treads left a slight imprint onto the ground, with some of it being chucked into the air behind him. He did not want anyone to catch him now as he made his last pass to the town known as Maidenhead.

Maidenhead had a good number of people living around it but the army had left some time ago. Their was an uprising some time ago when the locals tried to oust the army who had positioned a small garrison here but it failed. The locals had few guns between them and even less skill in using them. The locals were utterly defeated but now with the garrison gone the locals ruled them selves. It was somewhat peaceful but with little support from the out side the town started to go into decline.

Jazvir entered the town down the same path. It hugged a small stream and ran eventually behind the towns library. Few people ventured here now as it was the haunt of local thugs. The library had been closed for some time so it wasn’t too much of a loss but all the same it was generally a no go area.

He stopped his bike and smiled as the nostalgic memories came back to him. It was here he would often go to park his bike before walking to the high street. Those days were long gone as the shortages started and the people became hungry. It’s a different world now.

He continued to ride his bicycle and pumped some speed as he went up hill and away from the stream. He slowed down again once he had reached the top before lazily peddling for the main high street. He was now at street level with closed shops on either side of him. The first signs of life appeared as he passed carpenters and farmers busily working away, brining in supplies and selling their goods. Few customers were around but they would arrive slowly and some would purchase the goods. Few would leave it past 5pm when the sunlight dimes. None of the street lamps work since there’s no electricity. It was like the dark ages, but the will of the people struggled on.

“How’s business?” a farmer asked a fellow.
“Ha, barely enough to survive on!” replied another. While the day was still young only a handful of people were out in town and even fewer had any money to buy it. The local backs were all burned out after being looted several times, the value of money was very low! £100’s would be needed to get an apple sometimes but since no one regulated the money, it had little values. Gold and bartering seemed the only way to trade these days, as it could be traded access the water to Europe. The first sighs that the Euro [European money] was coming into its own was when a convoy fresh from the ports to the north only accepted it instead of the Great British pound! Indeed it had lost its once ‘great’ status since the general took control of the Bank of England and forcing it to produce money for his gain.

“This country is going to the dogs” Jazvir muttered under his breath, he him self had lost over a stone as he found it hard to make ends meet. With degree’s only useful if you join the army and experience in only petrol stations, Jazvir had little going for him.

He saw what he was looking for in the shape of bike supplies. A man had all manor of things from light bulbs and toasters to carved out wood and playing cards. Of course the value of electronics were very low but tools like puncher repair kits were in demand. Bikes were now frequently in use as it didn’t require unleaded or electricity.

Jazvir pointed out what he wanted, which was several packets of unopened repair kits.
“That will be a bag of corn” he replied eagerly, spotting the small bags Jazvir had brought with him from the farm.
“Hmmm this will feed you for half a week! I think I need something more than just a few repair kits” Jazvir responded realising he would have to haggle, but he had corn which was something in short supply. “Well what else you going to offer? Your not the only one with repair kits”.
After a brief haggle Jazvir walked away with repair kits and some paint which was not exactly something he wanted but it was something. He was also able to hold onto some of the corn but it was 3 days supply, something hard to build up.

He got onto his bike and started to cycle the way he had come. He looked back thinking it would be the last time he would ever see this place he called home ever again. Now with his cycle filled with accessory he was finally prepared. He held the brakes as he started to race down the hill before symbolically starting his great journey northward!

“Bye Maidenhead, Hello world!”

[Village of Bray]

Ep3. Last safe house.
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Jazvir was alone now as he had left the busy township of Maidenhead and travelled on the A208 that travelled down the Themes River. Only a few roads still remained intact with the Maidenhead bridge having collapsed months ago, after the military tried to end the rebellion of the locals. Like the bridge, the military where also gone and now the locals being somewhat isolated from the world where on their own.

As he cycled on one of the remaining major roads he passed several minis and small hatchback that had since been abandoned and vandalised. They littered the road side but for the most part the road remained clear with its neat lines on the centre of the road still fresh.

The houses turned into open grass land as he started to leave the peripheries of town and into the farms that lay along the rich dirt of the rivers flood plain.

The farmers were busy working, trying to get the last of the seeds set before the growing season was fully in swing. The lack of oil and part meant that most of the harvesters had since stopped working. Getting food in markets were always restricted and expensive but if you worked hard enough then you could get enough to get by, but it was a tough life.

Jaz sped past them all as the road continued further and further from the town of Maidenhead. A half fallen sign up ahead had the sign of the village of Bray. It lay on the river, only two miles away and would be the first pit stop as this would be the last friendly place he still knew off.

He took one of the minor roads to the left and went down a junk filled road way. A barricade had been set up the village to protect against night raiders. These days the riders have all but moved on to easier and more affluent targets but wall created still remained.

A guard with a pistol has a garden chair positioned on top of the wall that stands on to one side of the road. He hold the hand gun in one hand and stands up as he notices Jaz move close to his position. He relaxes as he recognises him to be one of the residents.

“Good training?” the guard asks.
“Well I got what I wanted… but I did not get it at the price I wanted” Jaz replies with a slight sigh.
“Haha, it's always the way” the man above replies as he unlocks the wooden gate that blocked the path up ahead.

Getting off his bike, Jaz pressed against the heavy wooden gate and it started to move apart. It was made up of loosely fashioned sticks and rope, making something that was strong but would not last out against a sustained attack. Raiders for the most part were unable to get through so it did its job. Now it remains to protect against roaming animals and opportunistic rogue elements.

He smiled as he looked at some of his graffiti on the inside of the wall. It had the words, ‘JAZ was ere 1977’ That was two years ago when the wall was newly built. ‘A lot of people hated the wall back then’ he thought.

It was made up of loosely rendered brick work, and was two walls with rubble between to give it stability. Some parts where wide enough to stand on but much was only a single brick at the top, being thick at the bottom.

Jaz passed into the main centre of the fortified village and found him self among the very old building ranging from 500 years old too some made just before the government collapse. It was a happy time when out side visitors would come to see the old 15th century hospital that treated the rich and Norman Church, now the centre of local power.

He made it to his house, a small room in one of the cottages that had been abandoned after it's owners disappeared south somewhere. Inside it had all the comforts just like they nearly left it. It had a TV, radio kitchen appliances but in the age of no electricity, was not much used. The appliances only remained in the hope the war would finally end and normality to this part of the forgotten world would be remembered once more. It never happened but people still hope.

Jaz dragged in his bike and locked it securely while it lay in the hall way. He took the supplies from the rucksack and placed them on his bed. Already he had gathered other goods and commodities that he thought would come in handy like food, water, filters, trinkets and other things he could sell in other markets.

He looked out of his window and looked at the shimmering water of the near by river before dragging out a self made hold. It had two weeks on either side and with a long pole that connected to the bike. It would travel behind and carry goods that he could not carry on his back. It would be slow but it would make his travel more survivable.

He with the tool kit fitted together the trailer to the bike and to his surprise found that his bike would not stand on its own, with it becoming almost like a trike, but that was minor. He had to make sure he was really ready to leave his little world. Maidenhead was the nearest town with good markets. It was the only place to get a good supply of many things that the small market at bray could supply. Also the two was within a short trek even by foot so both were travelled between frequently.

The other roads would take you to the village of Holyport travelling south west or Windsor if travelling along the river. Other settlements had since been abandoned. It was near Holyport that he used to live before the chaos of the evacuations long ago. His last memories with his family were formed then, of which he never speaks of.

He pushed the fully laden trailer and bike into the garden before covering the trailer with a waterproof PVC liner. While it did not look like it would rain, in days time it could and no doubt would rain, so he wanted everything to be secure.

A few eyes turned as he started to make final preparations a few eyes turned, wondering what Jaz was doing. He had not informed anyone of his plans, so were surprised to see so much being packed for his push bike to pull.

He did not say a word as he closed the door behind him, hiding the emptied rooms within. He did not want to say anything for two possible reasons. One was that he would chicken out and the other was if anyone tried to convince him to stay.

He kept his head low as he walked down the cobbled road and to the gate to the south. From now one he would be alone and just a drifter, one of the least welcomed people left in the shires.

He jumped on to the bike and started to peddle hard as he passed the gate to Windsor. A road he personally did not travel. He said to the gate keeper,

“I won’t be back for sometime… So expect me to disappear”

Before the gate keeper could react, Randee kept to a constant speed as he travelled on.