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From
The Enemy:
His dad had been the first to go. One of the very first to die when the illness
struck. He had even been on the news; the headline had said something like
“Another Death From Mystery Illness Sweeping Europe.” Then there had been more
and more deaths, and not just in Europe–all around the world. They’d stopped
mentioning individuals; it had been whole streets, then whole towns. It had all
happened so fast people had been stunned, and hadn’t really had time to panic.
The whole world had sort of gone into shock. His mother had been frantic after Dad
died. She packed the house up, ready to try to escape to the countryside and stay
with Auntie Susan. But she fell ill before they could get away. Then it was just Ollie
and his brothers. They tried to leave London by themselves. His oldest brother, Dan,
got sick next. He’d been eighteen. Then Will, sixteen.
His younger brother, Luke, hadn’t been old enough to get sick. He’d been killed in
a riot up near Finsbury Park. That must have been over a year ago. It felt more like a
century. By then Ollie had had no more tears left to cry, the catastrophe had been so
immense, so overwhelming, that he had just pushed it out of his mind and concentrated
on trying to stay alive. He owed it to his family, as the last one left, not to die.
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