A pale, skinny youth of around thirteen was picking through the piles of debris, looking for anything that might be useful, either to keep or trade. The pickings were slim, as these piles had already been picked over several times by others. A bottle or two here, a battered bicycle helmet, and some plastic bags there.

This was the world now.

The Great Collapse came after the virus. The virus had wiped out ninety-nine percent of the Earth’s population over the space of just two years. Three years later, only a remnant of the population remained, leaving what had once been a thriving, advanced civilization reduced to basic survival — survival of the fittest, strongest, and smartest.

The collapse of modern society, infrastructure, and governance had led to a state of worldwide anarchy, where each person did what seemed right in their own eyes. Like-minded factions from the remnant had grouped together, forming clans and cartels. Working together, united in the constant daily struggle to find the resources needed to live — food, water, clothing, shelter, and medicine.

Now that cash was virtually worthless, resources had become the new currency. The scarcer something was, the more valuable it became. Resources were something to guard and protect.

An impatient voice called out from across the street.

Red picked through the meagre offerings that Seb had found, the corner of his lip curling into a scowl even more than usual.

This was the way.

Red was a hardened, streetwise, seventeen-year-old who had been living on the streets for a very long time — even before the Great Collapse. He was a survivor; they all were — those who, through some mix of luck, fate, or destiny, had been spared and not taken by the virus. They were all part of the remnant.

Red led a clan of around a dozen kids, varying in age from about ten to about sixteen, all with the same objective — to survive. The clan represented the closest thing to family that they had. The post-apocalyptic world following the Great Collapse was a tough place to be if you were alone.

The basement served as both their headquarters and their home. It wasn’t much — the cramped basement of a long-abandoned office block — but it did have one thing they needed: running water. The water came from a stormwater holding tank fed by rain from the roof. Food had to be scrounged, foraged, or otherwise obtained.

Red and Seb slipped through the concealed opening that led down into the basement. As they descended into the gloom, Red almost kicked over a bucket holding the unpleasant but necessary contents of what passed for the basement’s toilet. Red scowled again and ran his grimy hand through his hair. He swore loudly.

There was a hurried, murmured buzz amongst the others, and finally, after much elbowing and poking, a small boy with oversized glasses scurried forward to deal with the bucket.

Lewis hurried off with the bucket, and Red flumped down tiredly on one of the nearest mattresses.

With Red leading the way, they rapidly made their way back up the stairs that led outside. Carefully, they slipped out of the entrance and checked the street. The light was fading, and night was falling fast.

The trio slipped noiselessly in behind some dumpsters overflowing with trash. Red motioned for them to stay down and quiet. Out in the street, Red’s worst fears were realised.

The Marauders had arrived — a self-appointed militia cartel of paramilitary soldiers who ruled by fear and the business end of a rifle, taking what they wanted when they wanted. They were dangerous and known to snatch lone children from the street to trade for scarce resources.

Red, Seb, and Raven remained hidden behind the dumpster, out of sight, and nervously scanned the surroundings for any sign of Lewis. They saw the toilet bucket lying on its side in the gutter next to the drain.

Lewis, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Back behind the dumpster, the three teens held their breath, not daring to move or speak. In what seemed an age, the Marauders got back in their vehicles and drove away.

After waiting for some time to be sure that they were really gone, Red carefully moved around the dumpster to check the street for any sign of Lewis. Then, almost imperceptibly, Red saw a slight movement on the other side of the street behind yet more piles of decaying trash. Slowly but surely, a head of tousled brown hair and a pair of oversized glasses became visible.

Red motioned with his hand — keep low and come here.

Lewis then made a silent dash across the street to where Red was hiding behind the dumpsters. Three pairs of hands hastily pulled him to safety and out of sight.

Red then looked down at Lewis, who had been splashed with some of the bucket’s contents and had taken refuge behind the pile of slowly rotting trash.

The kids in Red’s care may be brats, but they were his brats, and he felt a strong need to protect them as best he could. He also knew that the Marauders would be back, and the basement would not remain safe for much longer.

Next: SS2.2: Fleeing by Night