Laura reached out for the T.V remote and pressed the off button instantly turning the room dark. Her husband, Lewis, was sprawled out on the other cough with their daughter snuggled into his chest. Both were fast asleep. Laura couldn't help the smile that flicked across her lips. She was so glad she's taken this two week vacation to spend more time with her little family. The lab could wait. There was nothing pressing currently and the cancer research team had more than enough members. Laura stood up and stretched the stiffness from her limbs, there was nothing like sitting in front of the T.V for hours to give you stiff joints, then checked her watch. The little clock face told her it was 9:05pm which meant it was way past Emily's bed time. Laura walked over to the other couch and scooped her daughter up into her arms. At three years old Emily was still light but was starting to lose her baby fat. Laura buried her nose in the light brown hair and breathed in the clean child scent. Emily stirred in her arms and her eyes opened slightly still heavy with sleep.

'Mummy?'

'It's alright darling, go back to sleep.'

Comforted Emily closed her eyes again and nestled further into Laura's arms. Laura looked back at her sleeping husband to find his eyes open and staring at the two of them. He smiled at Laura, a genuine happy smile. She couldn't help smiling back. After all they had gone through recently this felt like old times. Suddenly the floor began to shake startling Laura who stumbled backwards. Lewis jumped out of his chair and grabbed her by the arm before she fell and forced her into a crouch. Emily had woken up and was wriggling to be put down so Laura put her little feet on the floor but kept a tight hold of her hand.

'What the hell is that? An earthquake?'

Lewis shook his head. He didn't know. The shaking stopped almost as suddenly but then the screaming started. Lights blinked on in the streets outside and car alarms started to blare. It wasn't an earthquake.

'We have to get out of here.'

Lewis stood and was about to move to go upstairs when the sound of sirens stopped him.

'It's the police.'

Laura breathed a sigh of relief and moved to the window still clinging to Emily's hand. There was one police car in their drive but there was also a tank and an armoured car. What the hell was going on? This didn't look right. Laura watched as several men in army uniforms jumped out of the car and tank and started running for her house.

'Lewis!'

She screamed as the door burst open and the men with guns poured into their living room. One of them saw her standing by the window.

'Laura West, you're going to have to come with us.'

'Like hell she is!'

One of the men lifted his gun and shot Lewis in the chest. He went limp and fell to the ground, a pool of blood spilling out from his body.
'No!'

Laura dropped Emily's hand and ran to her husband. He lay still, his eyes staring unblinking at the ceiling, his mouth still parted as if to speak had a trickle of blood running from the corner. Even though she knew he was already dead Laura checked his pulse. Nothing. She put her head to his chest to try and hear a heartbeat. Nothing.

'Lewis, please. Don't die.'

She was covered in his blood as she sobbed his name over and over. Emily toddled over to her parents and started patting at Lewis.

'Daddy? Daddy? Are you sleeping?'

Two men in uniform grabbed Laura by the arms and started dragging her from the house. When she realised they didn't intend to take Emily with them she started to panic. Kicking and screaming until her throat was sore but it changed nothing. The two men dragged her from the house and bundled her into the car without a word. The engine started and the driver put his foot on the gas and Laura sobbed and clawed at the window highlighting the house and the daughter she left behind in her husbands blood on the glass.

4 years later

'Shit.'

Laura kicked an empty container across the floor and watched it skid away through the dust and under a nearby cabinet. The pharmacy had been totally gutted. There was nothing left. It had been a long shot anyway and Laura was sure she had seen markings on the buildings indicated that this area was already claimed but she was desperate. Her supplies were running dangerously low. Quickly she fished a map out of the back pocket of her rucksack and checked the rest of the area. It was a big area and was likely to have a hospital. Her grey eyes followed the path of her finger as it traced across the map stopping on the familiar symbol that indicated a hospital. She tapped the symbol twice thoughtfully. Hospitals often had supplies left over because they were dangerous places and only the most desperate would even bother. Laura contemplated for a second before deciding she really was that desperate. With a resigned sigh she folded the map and tucked it safely away in the backpack.

As she turned to leave she heard voices. Instantly she crouched behind the old pharmacy desk just as the door creaked and the shuffle of footsteps alerted her to the presence of someone else in the room.

'Shit.'

Laura whispered to herself. How was she going to get out now...

As he sat there, looking at the old Dodge car his dad had found in one of his customer's garages. Although he was getting old, and needed to stay in the office more, he still went around to the customer's place to bring the cars back to the shop, where Jerome and the rest of the crew repaired them and refurbished them. The customer, Jack, having seen no use for the old Dodge agreed to give it to them in return for a discount for repairing his Mitsubishi. They'd sent back word for Joe to come and pick up the hunk of metal that was the Dodge, whilst they brought back the car. As they were about to leave in the tow truck, Jerome realized he had left his wrench in the Dodge.

"Damn it. Dad I left my wrench back in the Dodge. I'll be right back."

As he rushed through to the old Dodge and grabbed the wrench, the ground shook. By pure instinct he dove into the car as the garage shook to pieces around him. The old Dodge protected him from the brunt of the debris but he only managed to get out after two hours of pushing the debris out of the way.

Outside, Jack's house was demolished, and the tow truck was no where to be seen. He decided to try his luck.

Fuck, what just happened? "Dad? You there?" Damn. I should head back to the shop. He should probably be there. If not I'll have to go check back home.

Four Years Later

Jerome limped away from the set of traps that he only narrowly avoided. He could even hear the damned things, and he didn't want to be there when they came back. Three buildings down the street he saw a pharmacy.

Seems like a good enough place to wait them out. Hopefully no one else had the same idea.

He pulled out the Ruger SR22 pistol from his belt, silenced with a jury-rigged can silencer. Though it would wear out after a few shots, some silenced shots were better than none. He held it in front of him as he sneaked towards the pharmacy, careful to not make too much noise. He looked at the backdoor as he approached the pharmacy. Weighing up his options, he guessed he'd have a more likely chance to draw less attention if he entered from the back. Trying the door, he found that it was unlocked.

Seems like my lucky day.

He stepped into it, closing the door silently behind him. As he turned the lock he heard the front door creak and footsteps told him someone else was in the building. He held up the pistol and crept closer to the actual store front. Through the doorway he could see a woman standing near the front door, and as he looked down he saw another woman crouching down behind the old desk. Not knowing if either of them had noticed him he braced himself against the door frame, hopefully hiding his body from their view as he aimed his pistol at them, ready to fire just in case one of them seemed unfriendly and too out of their mind to listen to reason.

Grey buildings. Flashes of light. Thunder. The kick of the rifle, slamming back into the soldier's shoulder.

He was leaning out above the broken car, spraying out bullets in an endless hail. He didn't remember who he was fighting, or why he was fighting, or why he still cared. There was a War. That was all.

The enemy responded with its own hail of fire, the bullets pinging against the car, and the soldier rolled away behind a nearby building, pressing against it and pointing the rifle in the direction he had come from. Fuck, what's happened to the rest of us? he wondered.

His answer came with a radio crackle; that of a walkie-talkie. "Echo-Zero to Echo-Seven, how copy?" The soldier, still holding the rifle with one hand, grabbed the walkie-talkie off his belt and brought it up to his gasmasked face. "Echo-Seven copy."

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" The reply came, amid spurts of gunfire and wails of pain. "WE'RE GETTING OVERRUN HE- FUCKING HELL, NONONO!"

Gunfire filled the entirety of the transmission, along with an explosion, both heard on the walki-talkie and a few blocks away, and then only static. The gunfire continued a few more seconds. Then, it was over.

The man didn't cry, or shout, or hit anything. He simply put his walkie-talkie back on his belt and restabilized the rifle. He was used to loss. Right?



The soldier was in a hole, mud on his clothes, mud on his mask, mud as far as the eye could see. Across two months, he had been in a fighting retreat, holding the Enemy back as well as he could. But now he was done. He was done running. He had dug a hole for himself near a busy road. He had entrenched himself, dotted self-made landmines on the road, and simply waited. He had transported supplies lasting at least a week. He would surely be dead before then.

Eventually the Enemy caught up. He killed them all. Shot them with his rifle, his trusty rifle, she who had never broken, never jammed. He killed them all with it.

More came, and more died. The soldier played this game for days, and when his food ran out, he ate the Enemy's food. And when that ran out, he ate the Enemy.

And then, one day, as the soldier sat against the back wall of his little hole, a bird flew in and perched itself on the muzzle of his rifle. It was a small bird, smaller than the soldier's fist. He wanted to eat it, but something about the bird compelled him. He fed it some seeds he had found and kept in his pocket, in case he ever wanted to stay somewhere for an extended period of time. The bird ate, and just sat on the rifle, staring at the reflective lenses of the soldier.



The bird had stayed with the soldier, even when he finally left the hole. No more of the Enemy would come. Maybe they had all died. The soldier pressed deeper into the country, going through city after city on his oddysey. He had a mutual relationship with the bird: he fed it, and it fed his sanity. They travelled the nation, scavenging, hunting, camping in many places. The soldier loved the bird; it was the only reason he was still alive.

One day, the soldier woke up, and the bird lay still. He felt it, cradled it, but it was no more. Like all else, it was dead. Dead like every city the soldier had seen. And now, the soldier's last companion had fallen.

And then, only then, did the soldier remember what type of bird it was.

A shrike.

Renewed with purpose, the soldier buried his everlasting companion of years and made a small grave of rubble and wood. He etched with a knife a message into the wood,



And thus the soldier stood, and remembered his purpose, and his mind, and his name.

Echo-Seven, broken husk of a man, lay dead with the bird in that grave.

Shrike was born, and Shrike was the one who walked off onto the road, continuing his journey alone.