Chapter 2: I. KHALIL

A yellow mist formed in the sky completely at random. People thought nothing of it at first, staring  at and studying  it as if it were just another strange natural occurrence. They were quickly proven wrong. The mist, whatever it was, had a damaging effect on anyone and everyone. Trust me, it was like hell. Only a few minutes had passed and the mist was already creating a new world.

I remember it so vividly - as it was the day that I, Khalil Ibori, first came to the conscious realisation that both I and the people I loved could never truly be safe in this world. 

I was still rolling with the gang back then. We were all hanging out at  Joe Williams’ that evening. Too indulged in our usual debauchery to notice the effects of the mist earlier. I remember the initial reaction when one of us had finally noticed what had been happening around the neighbourhood. When we noticed its effects. This area was notorious for blood and crime, but never to such an animalistic extent. Here we were, a group of thieves, murderers and low-lifes of society, yet even we were shocked by the violence we saw outside. You can imagine the worry when that same yellow mist started to seep through the walls and enter the house.  Followed by what can only be described as utter fucking chaos that followed. The  middle-aged and elderly received the privilege of a quick painful death; in the young however, it had evoked an onset of intense paranoia and  uncontrollable impulsive violence….

A few of us tried to cover our mouths with clothes, pillows, hands, anything we could find. But none of us were successful. Soon enough I had begun to experience a surging feeling throughout my body, something that to this day I describe as the most revolting yet most euphoric feeling I have ever felt. Soon a group of people who consider themselves as a twisted form of brothers in arms were filled with the impulse to attack and kill eachother, myself included. It wasn’t long until the girl who I had spent the day whispering sweet nothings into the ear of had her hands around my neck, mercilessly choking me as she whispered:

“Die….Die…”. 

I had previously told myself that I would never lay hands on a woman, but at that point it was do or die. If I hadn't thrown her off of me that day she would have done the job, although with all things considered, she might have been doing me a favour. I couldn’t stand to see the people I went through hell and back rip each other apart and it was taking a tonne of personal effort for me to stop myself from doing the same. 

I remember sprinting out of the house in panicked fear, smashing furniture up as I attempted to escape the mist-created hellhole only to quickly find myself in a larger darker one outside. I saw young people, kids even as young as eleven fight as if their lives depended on it, anyone older than forty however, was either nowhere to be seen or already dead, with blood leaking from their eye sockets. That should have been an indicator of what was soon to come.

But I couldn’t think about that, all I could think about was how desperately I needed to ensure the rest of my ‘family’ wasn’t doing the same.  

My first instinct was to naturally call my older brother, Tyrel. Even in the face of crippling adversity he always seemed to maintain an unbeatable level of confidence and perseverance. He had always been like that, even when we were tattered and torn children, living on the streets of Moore Tont. He would always assure me that we would be fine, that he would protect me and that one day we would be right as rain. Can’t say I know many other homeless eleven year olds who maintained such an optimistic attitude. Lord knows I need him nowadays. 

Unfortunately he did not pick up. I knew he was somewhere else with other members of the gang so naturally thoughts  ran through circles in my head. All the possible things that could have potentially happened to him, it all compiled into one giant migraine. Little did I know that that day was going to be the safest I would feel for a long time. That was then, things are different now. Worse. Worse than I could have previously imagined.  

I now walk through the wasteland that was previously my hometown. Capital County. It wasn’t much to look at in the first place but anyone would be surprised by how awfully it has degraded. Buildings that used to stand tall are reduced to rubble and ash. Neighbourhoods that used to house numerous happy and thriving families now only feature one habitable home per block. Dried blood stains everywhere. And anyone who you come across is more than likely going to try and kill you. 

I didn’t need to spend much time here anyway, all I needed was a few supplies before I returned home. It’s not like I’m particularly in danger of getting attacked in this area though. In the year or so after the mist incident brought our country to the ground, most towns quickly became uninhabitable. The majority of people have congregated in areas where there are more resources and materials to scavenge from. This part of the county is an unremarkable ghost-town, you could walk for miles without seeing a person ready to gut you. Unlike where I’m heading back to.

After miles of solitary trekking away from the area I arrive at the Murder and Resources Hotspot, the heart of Capital County, named ‘The Land’. Bet it took people a while to come up with that one. I make my way past a broken sign that would have previously informed me that I was entering the town centre , there’s no denying it now, I’m back in the warzone.

Only a few minutes pass by until I’m walking distance away from another man who might try  to end my life. I see two men with a woman. Scratch that, two men harassing a woman.

The men look as toothless and ragged as they are depraved, almost as if they want you to judge a book by its cover. The woman looks beautiful, royal in a way. But you would hardly be able to tell with how badly her face is beaten, by them I assume. She begs and pleads for her life, but this only seems to amuse them into attacking her more. 

“What’s that? I can’t hear you!” snarls the bigger one, he seems to be having the most fun. He ragdolls the girl by her hair as his partner steals from her hole-filled rucksack. The two laugh incessantly. I think I’ve seen enough.

 

I approach the two men, making sure to retrieve the emergency gun I keep in my bag. I briskly make my way towards them, though they’re too engrossed in their assault and battery to properly notice me, until it’s too late.

Without a moment of hesitation I dispatched two men, each with a bullet in the head, cutting the population of the general area in half. The woman screams in shock. Naturally. 

As she panics and pants I collect all her belongings and put them back in her bag and the bag back in her hands. She eventually calms down, slowly moving from a state of panic to one of gratitude. She leaps on top of me and hugs me dearly. 

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” she says as she blubbers. I respond with an “It’s okay you’re welcome.” before parting ways with her. 

I look down to my hand which holds the gun, a slight tremor is still there.

“You never get used to it,” I mutter to myself.I feel as if I have to tell myself this after every kill in order to justify it. You’d think I would have come to terms with this by now given the time.  

I was forced to kill my first man at the young age of thirteen, meaning it’s been a decade of Khalil killings. Judge, Jury, Executioner as they say.  I’ve always had to tell myself it was justified, back in the day it was part and parcel of the life of a struggler, and now If I don’t kill someone, another mist-deranged young man like myself will do it to me first. One thing I will not apologise for though, are the killings I do to protect others. The world in its natural state is predatory towards the young and innocent. The strong and corrupt prey on the weak and helpless in the natural state of the world, but it reaches new heights now that the world as we know it is over. I couldn’t live with myself if I let the strong continue to kill and crush the weak, and so I must kill them. Does that make me just as bad as them? Probably. But I don’t care. I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. 

As I walk further into the desolate town I look down at my shirt to see it stained with splattered blood. It seems as if my latest two killings want to remain a part of me. I look around to see no wells, rivers or lakes in sight, meaning I’ll be forced to wear a stained shirt until I find one. First world problems still seem to exist, even when there’s barely a world left. 

I finally reach my destination -  a modest brick house, solid in condition but particularly unattractive, worn down and chipped away in some parts. For a house of these days it’s in very good shape, one of the only four of the neighbourhood that could qualify as remotely habitable. I hold down the handle of the house, it’s unlocked. I enter, incredibly frustrated as I see the crate used to prop against the door to lock it shut has been placed there ineffectively. 

“You can’t be serious.” I grumble to myself. My ‘housemates’ don’t seem to share the same attitude when it comes to our safety as I do. It’s enough to infuriate me.  It could get them killed one day and I don’t know what I would do in a world without them. 

I climb up the creaky damaged stairs and make my way into my room. I get into my ‘bed’, which consists of a worn dirty mattress and an equally dirty torn blanket. To think that this is a still living arrangement that most would kill for nowadays. I look outside of my window, night-time couldn’t have come any quicker. I try to ignore the biting cold of the night and close my eyes, hoping to drift away, seeking a deep sleep. 

My wish of a deep sleep despite the cold and pain is granted, but I almost wish it wasn’t. For what had to be the dozenth night in a row I’m faced with the exact same dream sequence. It’s frustrating. Why can’t I just sleep in peace? Why can't I go a day without re-living the last time I ever saw my brother?... 

It had only been a month since it appeared but the mist was turning the world into what it’s like today. Tyrel and I were both in the shadiest of  underground bunkers - stone walls, concrete floors, practically empty aside from a few containers of weapons. 

Tyrel was visibly sick, experiencing the bleeding from the eyes I had seen happen to older victims of the yellow mist. He was barely twenty-seven but it seems to have got to him early. This did not stop him from passionately and feverishly packing a large rucksack with as many items as he could possibly find. I held said rucksack, barely, as I was using most of my strength to prevent myself from breaking down in tears in front of him.

I shook my head in reluctant defiance as he continued to fill the rucksack.

 “We can't do this! The  rest of the gang needs these supplies.” I protested. “Everyone is in danger, not just us!”

But Tyrel doesn’t listen, he continues to feverishly pack. He shakes his head in anger, gritting his teeth as he stuffs flashlights, canned food and pistols into the backpack with no form of rhyme, reason or organisation. 

“Fuck the gang! Who cares about them? It's always been me and you from the start, ever since we joined this shit, ever since Mum... it’s me and you!” he barks at me as he packs the last set of items and closes up the rucksack. “ I need my little brother to survive out there. Take the stuff and go!”

“Alright then, hurry up, let’s get out of here” I insist. 

Tyrel sighs. He looks up to me with bloodshot eyes of pain and regret. I already know what he is about to say before he even says it. But I’m not willing to accept it. I shake my head in anger and defiance, nothing could have prepared me for Tyrel’s next set of words:

“We both know it’s too late for me”. 

My barely contained tears turn into uncontrollable waterworks. I’m simply incapable of accepting the reality that had been placed in front of me. Tyrel rubs his forehead, stressed as ever as he watches me cry.

 He runs his hands through his thick afro as he looks back at me. I’ve turned around, in a pointless bid to conceal my waves of sadness. Tyrel grabs me by the shoulder and turns me aback. He firmly places his hands on my shoulders and stares me down. I try to ignore the blood that leaks from his eyes. 

“Khalil…please” he whispers. He clenches his jaw and gulps. It was the most serious I have ever seen him, and it was clear it was the last time I’d ever see him. His condition had reached a new height, it wouldn’t be long until he was incapable of coherent speech or even walking. If it was up to me I would’ve carried him with me wherever I went, brothers, together forever.

 But I knew how Tyrel was, I knew how he felt about these things. He would rather die alone than be a continuous ‘hindrance’ on his little brother, I didn’t see it that way but I know he did and I wasn’t about to deny a man's dying wish.

I nod in agreement, take the rucksack off of him and leave the bunker. As I walk away from the area I look back towards Tyrel. He had crashed himself against the wall and closed his eyes. He was ready to die and I could not bear to watch.

That is not where the dream usually ends. I awake to  see that it is still the dead of the night. I also see what must have disrupted my sleep. A shadowy figure ominously stands by the open door. It’s too dark for me to make out who it is. My mind starts to race with anxieties as I stare at them. The door wasn’t locked as well as it usually is, maybe someone came in and waited till I was asleep to kill me? I quickly reach for the gun I keep under my pillow and point it at them. 

“Are you going to use that?” laughs the ominous silhouette in a very familiar voice. The closer the figures come towards me the more relieved I am. Oh good, it’s just Grace. 

Grace gleefully skips across the room towards me. Though small in stature, she creates a great deal of force when she plants herself down right next to me. She flashes a mischievous smile, her long frizzy red hair hanging over a pair of strikingly blue eyes. 

"Who knew it was this easy to rattle the mighty Khalil?" she says to me, 

I shake my head at her, equal parts unimpressed and unamused. She shrugs. It doesn't often seem like it but Grace is the one person that keeps me grounded during these times, in spite of how flighty she is herself. She's the only member of the old gang who I'm still in contact with. She is also the only member who didn't try to kill me after my brother allowed me to escape with most of their supplies , so she's the closest I have to an old friend nowadays.

"Was it that type of dream?" she asks me in the most flirtatious tone she could muster. I shake my head solemnly. Within an instant she understands and changes her mood accordingly. 

"Brother?" she utters quietly. I nod my head, confirming. The mood within the room quickly sours. 

Naturally being a person who avoids any form of pain and melancholy, Grace pats me on the shoulder and gets up to leave. 

“You got somewhere to be?” I ask her. She nods, causing her frizzy red mane to bounce as if it had a life of its own. 

“Going to check up on my Uncle, then I might rob a market or two, you want to come?” 

“Nah, I’m alright” I respond. 

Before she leaves Grace gives me a look of concern that was oddly warm in a way. 

“Try not to let it affect your sleep, okay?” she advises.  I nod and sigh. 

“Take care” she says, blowing a kiss and then leaving the room. 

I always thought you had to be at least somewhat insane to actually maintain such a upbeat attitude as you live through a real life dystopia. I guess Grace confirms this theory. 

 

Unable to sleep properly, I decide to walk through the house.

 “Wouldn’t hurt to check on the others.” I think to myself as I crawl out of my bed. I walk down the hall. It gets incredibly eerie at this time of the night, as Grace had recently proved with her ‘prank’ earlier. I walk down towards the end of the hallway, past Graces’ room and into Cameron’s. The room is completely empty apart from a mattress on the floor and his weapon’s rack that lays by his wall. I notice one weapon missing, his signature sniper. Its absence does not inspire confidence in me. I leave his room and make my way towards Isabelle’s room, which is also empty. I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen. I open the cabinets to check on our supplies. Rations are running low, a few pieces of meat, apples and oranges and a canister of water to last us a couple of weeks. To say times are tough would be an understatement. The whole house is completely empty. Where is everyone? I make my way outside of the house and into the open backyard of the house. 

As I walk past my brother’s empty grave I see Isabelle who sits in the mud, in front of a thin hand-dug trench that she tirelessly works upon. Both her usually immaculate dark skin and hair are stained with dirt, as she boroughs and perfects the passageway. Isabelle’s always been a perfectionist, especially back in school. We didn’t really know each other back then. We never really spoke back then, apart from that period where she was dating my mate's sister Emma . Probably for the best we didn’t interact much, I doubt a criminal dropout candidate and a high-achieving  prodigy would have much in common. But when the world comes crumbling down you barely have a choice of who you associate with, especially if you want to survive. I crouch down next to Isabelle as she digs. She doesn't even make an attempt to even look up from her work.

 “Thought you were leaving that until tomorrow?” I ask. Isabelle stops her digging to look up at me. She lets out a tired grunt. 

“I know, but we were making such good progress, I thought I’d put some more work in before bed” she responds. “I also made this”. 

She reaches into her jacket and picks out a homemade water filter she constructed using a plastic bottle, glass, sand, gravel and charcoal. Quite innovative. 

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“When did you become knowledgeable on water purification?” I ask. 

“About five minutes ago…I just needed to get the items. I’m pretty proud of it.”  

“You should be”. 

A smirk creeps across Isabelle’s face.

“ So why are you still up? Grace left a few minutes ago, if you were planning on going with her.” she ponders. 

“Nah, I just couldn’t get any sleep. Thought I’d go for a walk.”

Isabelle scoffs at me. She tosses me her homemade water purifier she made. 

“How about instead of mindlessly walking around you make yourself useful and collect some more water down the stream.” she orders. 

“See if it flows through the trench as effectively as we hoped for.”

I shake my head and laugh.

“You seem to be having enough fun there. Weren’t you president of the Eco Society back in school?” I remind her “This will improve your skills” 

“That was less of an intellectual pursuit and more of a CV booster,”  she quips. Like clockwork  she returns back to digging the water trench.

“Do you know where Cameron is?” I ask. “He wasn’t in his room, but his sniper was missing”

Isabelle's stops digging. She looks at me, a face muddled with worry, concern and immense irritation. “Fucking hell, he’s done it hasn’t he?” she grumbles. 

“Done what?” I asked. 

Isabelle stands up, dusting herself off of all the mud. 

“He told me about an idea he had to get more money and resources.” says Isabelle, “Robbing the Winstanley family ”  

To say I looked shocked and surprised would be the understatement of the century. Cameron Chambers can be described as a lot of things but brave to the point of suicide isn’t one of them.

“I didn’t think he’d actually do it though.” she adds.

“Cameron’s thinking of robbing the fucking Winstanley’s?” I say, struggling to control a quickly building bout of frustration and fear. “Does he have a fucking death wish or something?"

"He said something about having a serious debt he needed settled that was going to 'probably kill him anyway'”

"Why haven't I heard about this debt?" I ask. 

"He's probably too scared to tell you." informs Isabelle. “Classic Cameron.”

I feel like going on a rant of the ages but all  I can muster is a sigh and a nod. 

"Guard the house until Grace comes back, I'm going to go have a meeting with Cameron and the Winstanley's."

"Understood," says Isabelle with a diligent nod of the head. 

I storm my way back into the house, making a direct B-Line towards my room. I retrieve a duffel bag from the corner, filled to the brim with weaporny. I sling the bag around my shoulder and make my way out of the house. 

Anyone who has had the misfortune of an altercation with the Winstanley's would understand that my panic is more than justified. The Winstanley's are a group of people whose way of life has actually improved post-apocalypse. They are the type of people who take the saying "keep it in the family" too literally for one instance. There were also rumours circulating about their affinity to kidnapping people and draining their blood for their sadistic fun. It sounds far fetched  but from my limited experience with them, I wouldn't put it past them. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd already started draining Cameron. The poor guy won't be able to handle it, I need to get there fast.

I enter the car and drive like my life depends on it. As I leave the neighbourhood I’m faced with many sights you’d expect to see on your average night throughout this area - A group of freedom fighters have an intense blade fight over territory of land; a gang killing a man by feeding him to a group of dogs; a group of women simultaneously destroying and trying to break into a car of a man who they are attacking and a pile of burning bodies on a hill. 

All of this succeeds in doing nothing but making me more anxious about Cameron's safety. 

I finally arrive at the dreared destination. An isolated cottage farmhouse located a riverstream away from the rest of the surrounding neighbourhood. It's eerily quiet from the outside, which doesn't fill me with much joy. 

I leave the car and head towards the side of the house. Luckily for me, its construction isn’t too complicated and I’m able to quickly and swiftly scale the building. I climb up to the top of the building and make my way onto a ledge that looks into one of the rooms. The windows open, but the room - empty. I enter the room and slowly creep my way through the hallway. The whole first floor is empty. The eerie feeling of the night only seems to increase the further I walk into the house. I hear some commotion downstairs - I think I’m about to find what I’m looking for. 

Peering into the living room downstairs I see Cameron tied up to a chair struggling. His mouth is taped shut and his sleeves are rolled up. The ropes that bind him in the chair are tied so tightly that his skin is red and his veins are incredibly pronounced. Blood drips from a spot behind his ear as he whimpers in pain. No one else in the room, the coast is clear, too clear if anything. I disregard all caution and quickly rush to his aid, unbinding and ungagging him. Cameron lets out a series of incomprehensible thanks’ before eventually collecting himself. 

“Khalil…thank God you came,” utters Cameron, deeply out of breath. “You can’t imagine how worried I was…I genuinely thought I was going to die here.”

“Don’t worry about it” I tell Cameron as I look him in the eyes. I always found it interesting how despite being tall and bearded, his innocent brown eyes gave the impression that you were dealing with someone much younger and more innocent. 

“Why did you even come here on your own?” I ask him.  “Did you only think you could steal from the Winstanley’s and get away with it?”

“I’m sorry I just really needed the money for-”

“A debt you had to pay off right? Why on Earth is there a debt you had to pay-”

 I immediately stop talking and start listening. Something’s wrong. As soon as I turn around I am met with one quarter of the Winstanley clan charging towards me, holding a plank of wood with nails in it. He swings the plank at me but I dodge out of the way.  The man's bare-footed steps seem to make no noise at all. If it wasn’t for my instincts he would have bludgeoned my head out by now. 

“Oh look, the other ones come to play, how lovely” he says. 

He is soon joined by his tall, burly sister who comes barreling down the stairs to join in the altercation. For a family of blood drainers, they are surprisingly clean-cut in appearance but are unsurprisingly not-so-clean cut in behaviour. 

“Tall, dark and handsome…” she comments “I can’t wait to drain the colour from your skin.” 

I reach for my duffel bag of weapons but she takes it off of me and throws it to the side. She grabs hold of my shoulder but I am able to escape from her grasp. Unfortunately this buys enough time for her brother to slam the plank into my leg. I feel a sharp pain course through the majority of my body. One of the nails cuts into my thigh. I shake off the pain and move out of the way of another plank-delivered blow. I exchange a blow of my own, jabbing the Winstanley brother across the jaw and knocking him to the ground. His sister grunts angrily and cracks her neck. I clench my fists, preparing for two versus one fight against the inbred sado-masochist sibling duty. I look around me to see Cameron cowering at the back of the room. There’s a long list of nice things I could say about Cameron to describe his character and courageousness would not be one of them. 

I’m punched in the stomach by the Winstanley brother, but I manage to firm it and return a hit to his liver, momentarily taking him out. His large sister shoves me to the ground and I fall. She lunges to the floor in an attempt to pound my face in but I roll out of the way. I pick myself up and kick her in the stomach repeatedly. As I do this her brother jumps back into the fight. He launches himself onto my back, placing me in a strong chokehold. As he does this, his sister picks herself back up. She begins to send a flurry of punches to my stomach. I try to force and kick my way out of this combo but it's no use. I can feel myself slowly losing consciousness from the combination of a choking and a beating.

The sound of a gunshot echoes throughout the room. It hits the sister in the arm, causing her to drop to the floor. I look to its origin and see Cameron with not only the discarded duffel bag of weapons slung around his arm, but his sniper pointed at his victim. As you can see he has his uses. 

I feel the brothers grip around my neck loosen as he looks in shock at his injured siblings. I seize the opportunity, biting down on his hand until I draw blood then swinging my head back, smacking it against his chin violently. This rids me of his grasp completely as he screams in pain. 

I gesture at Cameron to make an escape and so we do. The two of us exit the cottage like our lives depended on it, which with all things considered, was true. I swiftly enter the driver's seat, Cameron throws the weapons into the backseat and launches himself in the car. As soon as his foot is within the vehicle I speed away from the area, driving wildly through the land. The last thing I’d want to risk is that family tracking us back to our house specifically. The further away from the Winstanley’s, the better. 

As soon as I've made a manageable distance between us and the cottage, I slow down my driving. I glare at Cameron through the front view mirror. He makes ,then quickly breaks eye contact with me.

"Next time, let me know before you decide to pull some reckless shit like that." I reprimand. Cameron shakes his head. He looks to be visibly annoyed, yet at the same time as if he’s trying not to look it.

“It was an honest mistake on my part! You, Grace and Isabelle go on on solo runs for supplies and money all the time!” he says. 

“That’s because we actually know what we’re doing,” I tell him. Cameron looks down to the floor. He shakes his head and smirks. 

“I’m the oldest, yet I still get treated as the group baby.”

Cameron was right in a way. Isabelle and I went to high school together and Grace was the same age, making Cameron all of our seniors by at least two years . But ever since Grace and I rescued him from that apartment complex a couple of months ago, he could definitely be described as the weak link of the group. But like I said he has his uses. Part of the reason I scold him so much is precisely because of that - we need him. 

“I’m not trying to baby you Cameron. I’m trying to make sure we all get out of this alive. So like I said, next time, tell me”

Cameron nods, clearly only half-listening to what I said. The majority of the rest of the car trip is filled with an awkward silence, until something comes to my mind. 

“Remind me to blow up the Winstanley cottage sometime soon.” I tell Cameron. He looks to be shocked, understandably. He sits up in his chair and adjusts his seatbelt. 

“What? Why?” he asks

“What do you mean, why?” I ask back. “So we can kill them!”

Cameron is uncomfortable at the mere mention of killing them, much to my surprise. 

“Can’t we just leave them be?” he suggests.  “You already beat the brother and I shot his sister in the arm. The other siblings weren’t even involved in attacking me. We can’t just kill them as well.”

“Do you want to risk them coming back to find us?” I snap. Cameron shakes his head. He looks back down to the floor submissively. 

“That’s what I thought,” I add. 

In a way Cameron was right. It would be callous to blow up the Winstanley cottage. After all, some of the members of that household held no ill-will against us and the ones who did only came under my radar due to Cameron’s own mistakes. But it’s already too late to take such a risk. I already lost my people due to the effects of this mist before, I will do anything to prevent that happening a second time.

 Anything. 

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