The End : Aggregate

1.
The paint on the brick wall was crumbling. A steady trickle of flakes accumulating underneath, building into a pile that if it grew any higher would resemble Ayers Rock but this was not sacred ground.
The walls were a patchwork of orange paint and red,brown bricks. There were holes in the walls where a cupboard once fixed into place, the miss-match of brickwork was slightly more vivid in colour in the empty spaces in-between.

The room was dark, only lit by the moons rays filtering through the cracks in the rotting wood planks above which served as a floor for the night sky.
"I'll take it" said James as he handed over a couple of silver and dirty bronze coins.
"The rule of the house is that you leave the room in the morning in the condition it is in now, otherwise it another couple pounds" said the decrepit landlady as she held out her palm making sure she had taken the correct payment, trying not to choke. The room was on the second floor and she could only just manage the stairs.
James looked at the old woman, trying to determine if she was being serious. He took another look around to make sure.
Copper pipes snaked around the borders of the room only to retreat into holes that could lead to anywhere. The pipes once served a purpose forgotten by the previous inhabitants of the room and to the landlady probably. James had no care for who had stopped here before him. This was the first time in almost a week he had a roof over his own head and because of the cost of the room, planned to make the most of it.
The landlady done her best to slam the door as she left the room. She didn't care, this was the last stop before the next town some twenty miles away and judged by the state of her guest that he wouldn't complain and she was right.

James lit the lone candle that was stood in the corner of the room on a table that was made from a few plastic crates and a piece of a metallic type sign. The word stop barely visible. The surface of the make shift table amplified the light coming from the candle flame and just about illuminated the room. The candle was scented, it burnt the back of James' throat. The flame was a dark orange and he assumed that if it was possable to taste colour then this is what orange would taste like.

James set his bag on the table. He rifled through his belongings bypassing a flask and his change of clothes finding at the bottom a postcard, exactly where he had hidden it away to keep it safe. The postcard depicted a view of the sea, turquoise, a touch lighter than the sky all most mirroring it. At the far left of the picture a bungalow was surrounded by sand dunes. He didn't know where this place was, he liked the view, it was peaceful and the wish you were here invitation was more than welcome.
He turned over the postcard and read aloud the words written in red.
" it's all good, see you in 2 weeks, love you ".
The post mark was dated 23/06/2013.
About one hundred and sixty years ago.

2.
About one hundred and sixty years ago.

"Es ist 7:30 Uhr und das ist Ihr Weckruf" reverberated around the ten by fourteen foot room breaking the quiet of an early morning.
Two silhouettes lay on a king size bed.
"Paul, it's a weekend"
"Yeah" Paul replied.
"So what's with the alarm"
"I've got to see Simon about the solar PV rig Mary" replied Paul. He expected her to remember this as he had been helping him out for the past three weekends.

Mary was lying on her back still, the inside of her left arm was draped over her eyes, using it as a make shift sleeping mask.
"Not that, I was talking about the alarm. It's German, you don't speak German" Mary was annoyed and she made sure her tone reflected this.
Paul laughed at Mary's attempt at scolding him. He knew she really loved his randomness, it's was one of the reasons they had stayed together for so long.
Paul sat up with his back resting on the head board of his bed. "Lights", he summoned. The corners of the room came to life with an intense burst of white aimed directly at his bed. He raised his hands to his eyes to shield them from the light.
"I've got to get this fixed" he reminded himself, "lights off". The fittings in each corner died down individually giving the room back to the darkness. "Open curtains". The curtains opened slowly at his command gradually allowing light from outside access to his room.

Paul looked towards the window, his vision had been impaired by his malfunctioning lighting system, he could see shapes directly in front of him, black and moving about at lightening speeds, but looking past this Paul could make out that it had been raining recently due to the droplets of water leaving streaks showing their descent from the top of the window frame.
Mary, no longer a silhouette, still had not moved, she wasn't going to get out of bed just yet
"Give me a few minuets Paul" she asked.
Paul shifted his legs to the right so was sitting on the side of the bed. He was sure his slippers were somewhere below his feet, he moved his legs and feet backwards and forwards using them as a tool to feel out their location. Confident he found them he slipped both feet into them at the same time and stood up. Paul took his first step and stopped, he looked down at his feet and realised he had put his slippers on the wrong feet. He corrected his mistake and left the room.

Mary had nodded back off into a half-sleep state. She could hear her husband rooting around and making noise in the next room. "Your tools are in the cupboard by the door" she shouted.
After a minute or two which felt like hours to Mary, Paul shouted back "I can't find them".

Mary didn't want to get out of bed, she was warm and felt she had an hour or two's worth of sleep to catch up on, real hours this time not minuets.
After weighing up the pros and cons of getting herself up she decided that it would be best to get up now, find Paul's tools for him and go back to bed rather than to lie there and let him continue making that same annoying noise. She sat up and almost mirrored her husbands same actions earlier trying to locate her slippers. Paul opened the bedroom door a touch and stuck his noes through the opening. "Don't get up, I've found them, I'll be back about half twelve OK?" Mary took off one of her slippers and threw it at the door, "all-right then", she fell backwards onto her bed and landed on her back, she spread her arms and legs, making a mess of the duvet and pillows, a bed angel. Mary was awake now.

Paul picked up his tool bag and put his hand against the front door. The door opened to his touch and after stepping through he put his hand against the other side to close it. He noticed one of his hand prints made from white paint against the blue door, an accident he had forgotten to clean up, Mary had been asking him for weeks to clean it off. Paul had not in fact forgotten this bit of maintenance unlike his bedroom lights. He liked it. It made his home different to the uniform housing in his street.

Paul and Mary were visited a few days ago by the Home & Welfare Assistance Department and were threatened with a reduction in water allocation for their front lawn if the paint was not removed from the door. Paul didn't care about his lawn, it was grass and as far as he was concerned, not important. It rains almost every other day for most of the year. Grass would manage with out extra water. Come the summer though there would be a risk of a visit to discuss the lawn or lack of it if there were another dry spell. Who knows what ridiculous fine they would get then.

3.
Paul arrived at Simons house, it was more of a shed with a second floor but Paul referred to it as his second home. The walls were built with ancient brick and the roof was thatched. Pieces of Simons failed engineering endeavours cluttered randomly on the ground outside of the house. Paul had once seen something like this in an art gallery. Idiots paid money for this kind of stuff in the name of culture and he had it for free at the end of the street where he lived.

Simon had lived there for years and had been one of the founding members of the community after the Great War ended. The fact that he was a veteran was the only reason Home & Welfare allowed this bedraggled shack to stand.
Simon rarely talked to his friend Paul about the Great War but when he did, it tended to be a one way conversation. Yes or no answers. Old timers have a habit of talking about the great things they have done, with pride. Simon did not share this trait with his generation. The things he had done in his lifetime were far from great from his prospective. To the nation he belonged to though he was a hero, but people forget as time soldiers on. They just see an unkempt old man now.

Simon greeted Paul as he began to weave a path through the front yard. Paul was athletic in build but this task was difficult even for him. He hopped and skipped over the debris resembling something crossed between a dancer and new born lamb finding its feet for the first time.

"Took your time boy" Simon looked down at his watch, he built it years ago and took pride in telling Paul this when ever he could. Paul was surprised that the old man had not hodge-podged together a circuit or two and built in a stop watch just for the pleasure of telling him he was getting slower every week through this impromptu assault course. Even if he did, it wouldn't be fair, the mess was getting bigger every day.

"Who are you calling a boy Mr" replied an out of breath Paul.
"I was fifty year old when you were born, I can call you what ever I like"
Paul tried to find a response but couldn't out of some sort of respect for his elder.
Simon held his hand on his door to keep it open while Paul ducked under his arm to pass through and made his way to what was supposed to be a kitchen. Simons home didn't have the luxuries Paul's had. No voice activated anything. Even the door was old school, there was a handle to turn to open it, Paul was just about old enough to remember what it was for. A light switch was a novelty item to him.
"I've got to be home by half twelve Si, I've promised the misses I won't stay too long" said Paul.
"Boy, my names Simon. I am not one of the indoctrinated meatheads from the bar you associate with, the ones with the ridiculous buddy names" Simon must have said the same thing every time Paul called him Si'.
On this occasion Paul was mouthing the words as they came out of Simons mouth.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Paul was starting to entice the old man into a verbal sparing match. This kind of thing was one of his favourite things to do when he visited. Simon enjoyed this kind of banter and obliged to play along.
"Who's that guy you were talking about last week?. You said he got a speeding ticket when he tried his sons bike, took off with him on it, didn't know how to stop it". Simon started scratching his knotted beard trying to remember. For an eighty year old he had a surprisingly good memory but when it came to names he was forgetful.
Paul let out a laugh. "Smithy, yeah that was a classic"
"Exactly, John Smith right?." proclaimed an excited eighty year old. "What sort of a buddy name is that. There hasn't been a Blacksmith around anywhere since just after the war".

Paul was trying to hold his laughter in, "It's a name not a job description Si." Paul couldn't resist, he let out a giggle and continued "On the subject of job descriptions what is it you did during the war since you bring it up?".
Simon grabbed Paul's tool bag from him.
"It doesn't matter anymore" quickly changing the subject.
"Tell me, do you have a buddy name?. What do those heathens call you when your not at work?".
This was about the only thing Simon didn't know about Paul.
The emotion in Simons voice compelled Paul to drop the question on the war, he answered...

"They call me Saint"

4.
Chayot Division of Home & Welfare was buzzing with news of a terrorist attack that had killed over a dozen Officers a half hour ago just two miles outside of the farming sector. The device used for this act, according to the information flashing up on Agent Andrews heads up display, was an improvised explosive made from household goods and appliances.

Terrorist attacks over the last few years however had been professional affairs, the weapons of destruction had been military grade, relics left over from the Great War, this was unusual.
Andrews booted a map program to his HUD and plotted this attack with a virtual drawing pin. He studied the map and sat back in his leather chair.
He commanded his on person computer to plot all terrorist attacks over the past ten year. He deduced from this pictorial information that time frames for attacks had been reducing each time and that ever smaller explosives were being used. Terror attacks had been sporadic in this part of the world but always came in waves of three. This had been the norm since the end of the war. Andrews was certain and feared this was the first attack of a new wave. Then who knows when a potential assault on The Town would begin.

The Town was well protected with automated turrets but patrols of servicemen were routinely sent out into the After Town to patrol, and this is when the attacks happen.

Andrews put his index finger to his ear after brushing away his all-most white hair.
"Recon, do you have news on survivors" he paused to allow time for Recon Team to acknowledge.
"Three, badly wounded, EVAC inbound in five" was the hurried response.
Andrews again checked his display unit and entered this new information into the database.
"What about the terrorists, have they been apprehended?".
There was a delay with Recons response, less rushed, "Negative, threat eliminated".

Andrews was still looking through the data, taking a mental note of facts and figures of previous events.
In the time he had been in Chayot Division not one of these terrorists had been captured alive.
"Same as allways Andrews, bastard was caught up in the explosion".
Recon terminated the communication with nothing else to report.

Agent Andrews copied all of the data he had collected digitally and sent an internal email to Tactical team for analysis, he was certain this information would be of use.
Andrews had concerns however that more men would be sent on patrol to stop or quell the advancement of the terrorists.
This would mean that more likely than not, more would die.

If this failed, Town would likely fall.

V.
Mary had been awake for hours now, slouched in her reclining chair, she was bored. Her husband had been away for a few hours and there would be a few more to pass before she expected him home.

Having completed the morning chores she was taking a breather. Early morning TV was bad. Mary never bothered with it, even with over six hundred channels to select from, half of them were showing repeats no doubt from the day before.

Mary strained her neck to check out her physical movie collection. She preferred physical media over the digital versions. The idea of owning something tactile appealed to her over the space saving invisible movies the industry was trying to impose, plus she could sell on copies once she lost interest, something that is not possible with downloaded content and something the industry was trying to stamp out.

As she scanned the neat stack of DVDs she ticked off each one she didn't want to watch or films that she thought wouldn't be appropriate to watch this early in the morning. She considered if it was wrong to watch a horror at 11:30am.
Mary couldn't find anything that piqued her interest.

"Bored" she muttered to her self.
"CD player on, play from last stop"
The surround sound speakers, placed in every corner came to life, belting out drums and a steady guitar riff before the lyrics kicked in.

'This is not the end
This is not the beginning,
Just a voice like a riot
Rocking every revision
But you listen to the tone
And the violent rhythm
Though the words sound steady
Something empty's within 'em'.

The music stopped and then started to stutter on and off skipping lyrics and destroyed Mary's peaceful relaxation. The unique rhythm of the constant on and off was unbearable. Like someone running a knife and fork over an empty plate backwards and forwards.
One of the drawbacks of CDs.
"Stop," the player complied obediently.

Over the silence she could hear the sound of engines approaching, these were louder than anything she had heard from outside before, the sound waves felt as though they were raining down from above. This was not a car. Although cars these days powered by battery and electric mimicked the noise of combustion engines, this was different. The noise was thicker, bigger almost touchable.

Mary ran to the window, she knelt down to get a better view of whatever was above and cupped her hands over her eyes to shield them from the intense burn from the sun. She couldn't see anything. The roar intensified as Mary began to feel the sound, she put out her arm and used it to stop her self from falling. The walls were vibrating to.

The speakers in the room let out individual beeps.

"This is a message from Home & Welfare Assistance Department. Please do not leave the premises you are in. This is for your safety. Failure to comply will result in detainment. Thank-you for your cooperation".

Mary became panicked. Every terrible thought she had about being alone raced through her head. What was so bad that she was forced to stay indoors. What was so bad that the government had taken over the airwaves and her media player. Where was her husband?. Mary contemplated running out down the street to Simons home to make sure Paul was safe, it was too late for this, Agents were already on the street.

6.
"Gods sake, what was that?" Paul looked at Simon while making his way to the window. "Si, theres Agents out there, loads of them" he turned his head back expecting a response.

Paul looked up to the sky but he couldn't see anything but white cloud. The roaring from the heavens had died down and was now a continuous deep but dull tone.
Simon stood at his work bench with a soldering iron in hand, he had just finished up working on the last solar panel rig that he had hoped to gift Paul.
As he put down the soldering iron into its holster he glimpsed at Paul, still standing at the window.
"Paul, you need to get away from the window, God this is bad" Simon never prayed, he didn't believe in silly superstitions, he was a man of science after all but felt invoking a higher being was justified given what he knew was about to come.

"What?"
Paul had never heard the old
man speak like this. Paul walked to Simon with pace, clearly shaken by what was happening outside and by his friends out of character reaction.
"It's about the war, it's happening now Paul" Simon had both hands on the bench in front of him leaning forward as if he had just received a blow to his stomach.
"What are you talking about?" Paul questioned, he thought that with all the Agents on the street and the incredible noise this had perhaps trigged an old memory, post traumatic stress was common in war veterans and this was a symptom.
The old man stumbled around the outskirts of the room using the walls and whatever was fixed onto them as a walking aid, a guide. "Come with me, I've got something to show you".

Chayot Division had deployed its Agents by the tens, neatly spaced out in the street and every other street around Town, attired in full body armour, black from head to toe and armed with assault rifles.
As intimidating as they looked, these were just investigators and enforcers for Home & Welfare, used to dish out and execute penalties for any violation of the law and were not part of its military arm.
Agent Andrews sat, in terms of rank, somewhere between the two so had access to pretty much any resource when required. Andrews was leading a hand picked group of ten, The
Contubernium. These were military and dutiful and only deployed in cases of emergency.

The residents of Town were now confined to their homes or the the home of a friend, neighbour, stranger or wherever they happened to be when the order came. Satisfied that no civilians were left on the street Andrews ordered the searching of each home. "Remember, we are looking for any trace of terrorist activity. Alert me immediately if you find anything" barked Andrews. The Agents started to carry out their orders without hesitation.

Simon dragged Paul by his arm to a place next to the stairs to the upper floor. Stopping at the wall that held the staircase in its place. There was a crack in the wood panel. Simon ran his finger down it

"It has been decades since anyone had seen this, more years than you have racked up".

That was it, proof that old
Simon had lost it. Paul looked down at his feet shaking his head.
"Look Si, I've got to get home, Mary's alone, she'll be worried"

Simon pleaded with Paul to stay.
"They've already issued an order. They've confined everyone indoors. Thats why they've got so many agents on the street. You can not go out there. Mary will be safe for now, I promise, don't worry"

Paul understood that the 'they' were Home & Welfare. Any order from them is broadcasted into homes, orders of this
nature are not ignored. Not like the silly warnings for spilled paint on a front door.

Paul did not hear any order though.
It took him a moment but he remembered that Simon was not connected to the grid so no indoor speakers and he had some crazy motor powering his lights whirring in the background. What he knows about procedure no doubt comes from his military history.

Simon put his hand on Paul's shoulder for reassurance. With his other hand he delved into his overall pocket and produced what appeared to be an ID card. Paul caught a glimpse of the front of the card and saw a photo. This was Simon. A younger version at least, much younger. Simon still had the same beard, except for the knots in it and crumbs of food that had somehow missed his mouth and became stuck like flys in a spiders web.
Simon inserted the card into the crack in the wall, face down and removed it.

The wall slid to the right of Simon, opening up a new room, with a stairwell leading down.

7.
Light rays rained down through the roof of the trees on to a lone scout, wearing khaki combat trousers and a green and brown camo t-shirt.
The sun was at the peak height of its daily cycle. It was warm, too hot for heavy combats but the shade from the trees eased the burden. The scout was running. Dodging trees and rusted barbed wire fences and randomly scattered rubble protruding from the soil. He had to get his message back to camp urgently. What he heard and witnessed was vitally important to their effort.

The scout was now into his seventh mile, an easy run despite the heat. Dew clung to the long grass, water left over from the earlier shower. The droplets clung onto the scout as he stormed through the yellow and green under brush.
He used to play in the fields here when he was younger. He knew the place well. Games of cowboys and Indians, a simple childhood game but really an early training exercise for the life he was born into. He knew the best vantage points, hiding places and positions from where best to spring a trap. As he slowed down he checked these areas out with quick glances. He had nothing to worry about, the enemy had never ventured this far out and besides, the scouts own child played the same games here too. Safe as houses. The scout kept running though. He could see the tops of the tents and his message was urgent.

In the largest of the tents in the ramshackle camp, surrounded by the protection of heavily armoured all terrain vehicles, three men stood around a table with an old tattered hand drawn map adorning it. Their current position marked with a red circle. The map was detailed. It plotted the layout of the current camp, medical, food hall and sleeping tents but surrounding it were signs of an earlier settlement with faint lines marking outlines of many square and rectangular structures, thick black lines indicating that there used to be roads meandering between the buildings although there was very little of any proof to back this wide believed assumption up. These structures could not have been tents due to their size. Impossible. The general direction to the next camp, the closest in proximity was also noted.

The eldest of the three soldiers, still young as ages go, about fifty, wearing the same style combats and shirt as the scout as well as the other men in the room, ordered his subordinates out of the tent, with instructions to find out what had happened to the missing squad sent out earlier in the day.

Outside of this tent, women and children sat around sporadic fires tending to them and some carving into spit roasted animal for their noon meal.

The settlement had an intruder warning system, it didn't trigger as the scout ran through it. The operator knew exactly who this was was. No pleasantries were exchanged.
Scout kept his pace, speeding past the fires, the smell of slow roasted pig nearly tempting him to stop to re-fuel. He contined with only a few paces to go finally arriving at his destination. The large tent in the middle of the encampment, the sign above the door reading...

'Welcome to London'.

(Lyrics in chapter V are form the song Waiting for the End by Linkin Park)