By John O'Brien
There is not any sanctuary.
That was once taken away within the blink of an eye. Humanity went out no longer with a whimper, yet a bang.
Jack, a occasionally funny, occasionally philosophical ex-special operations pilot and soldier is without doubt one of the few left to struggle through the desolation left within the aftermath; looking to live to tell the tale as a new ferocious species emerges from the rubble, hungry and unrelenting.
Will his distinct forces education be enough?
Will he be capable to maintain his young ones secure and guide the few survivors via perils that now roam the area they once knew?
Or will the hordes that now own the evening succeed, endlessly removal the final of mankind from existence? Humankind was on the most sensible of the food chain. But that has now changed.
This hard-hitting, action-packed sequence starts off with Jack Walker being abruptly thrust right into a international where the infrastructure which loved Armani fits, evening golf equipment, quick and costly vehicles and staring at the daily stock marketplace are gone. Left in its place is the cloth global mankind outfitted yet a majority of the inhabitants has vanished; changed by means of a brand new, savage, unrelenting, crafty, animalistic species which hunts and operates at night.
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Extra resources for A New World: Chaos
I don’t want to stray far from the camp, the extra weapons and the fire, but if I stay on the ground I’m easy meat. I can’t fight a pack of wolves on my own, not in my weakened, exhausted state. I have to sleep, rest, survive and then decide what to do next. It is years since I climbed a tree – once I was betrothed it was deemed unseemly. Before that I spent half my girlhood shinning up the ancient oaks in our woodland. I hope I haven’t forgotten how. The tree nearest the fire isn’t an oak but a fir with little in the way of lower branches.
I must move, but my back aches from the hard labour of the day and my legs are numb from the weight of Cerys. I can’t feel anything. It is an effort to stroke her fine hair and trace the lines of her face with my fingers. I close her eyes and mutter a prayer for her soul. ‘Shut your mouth, you stupid Brigante cow. ’ Elen’s voice is a low snarl. She accompanies her words with a hard kick to my back. That blow was a mistake. I could kill her with my bare hands if I chose. I’ve kept my head down and my temper under control these last months for Cerys’ sake.
It is a gift I’ve perfected over long years. I hang my firepot on a branch and feed it all the dry pine needles that I can. I then arrange my cloaks to give me maximum protection against the cold and drift off. It’s cramp that wakes me. I’ve no idea how long I’ve slept but I have to stretch out my leg. I’m stiff, chilled to the bone and in some pain. I try to massage out the knotty muscles with numb hands and somehow I knock over the firepot so that it falls down through the interlaced branches below me, bouncing off them noisily as it goes.