The Cliggetts: An Apocalypse Family

The Cliggetts: An Apocalypse Family

​The once-charming towns and villages of Britain’s Cotswolds lay eerily silent. The streets, once bustling with life, were now littered with black bags bulging with the rotting remains of the dead, and endless trails of rat droppings. The air hung heavy with the stench of decay, a grim testament to the world lost to the new age plague and the atomic bombs that had ravaged the major cities.

​Street by street, houses were being cleared of their deceased occupants and belongings. Teams of scavengers across the country earned their living by emptying these homes. Their licenses mandated the handover of all food, medical supplies, gold, and silver to government officials. Anything else they found, they kept as payment.

​For a few families like the Cliggetts, the apocalypse had proven surprisingly advantageous. Never ones to shy away from getting their hands dirty—legally or otherwise—they had carved out a comfortable existence on their newly acquired small farm at the edge of a quiet Cotswolds village. "From council house to Lords of the Manor," Frank liked to boast.

​The older brother, Frank, had struck a deal with the remnants of the local government, securing contracts for house cleanups and exclusive rights to operate a trade post in their area. Frank’s mother, Mary Cliggett, managed the trade post and tended to the chickens, while his sister Annie and baby brother Mike scavenged abandoned houses in nearby villages and towns for anything salvageable, then collected and burned the corpses. Frank, the shrewd operator, skillfully managed both sides of his burgeoning business empire. The Cliggett siblings had found their niche in the apocalypse.

​Mike, always the family joker, channeled his humor into keeping their spirits up during the grimmest moments of their work. His running commentary about their "clients"—as he'd taken to calling the dead—ranged from darkly funny to borderline inappropriate. Annie, despite her constant complaints about the smell and the rats, had discovered a steely pragmatism and a keen eye for valuable loot.

​Frank might be the official boss, with his government contracts and radio conversations with army generals, but Mike and Annie were the ones in the trenches, literally dealing with the dead. They'd become experts at reading houses—knowing which rooms to check first, how to spot the signs of valuables hidden in panic, and, most importantly, where the rats hid. They might be the cleanup crew, the ones dealing with society's darkest aftermath, but they were good at it! And in this new world, being good at something—anything—was what kept you alive.

​Chapter One: The House on Cherry Lane

​Annie held the black bag as far from her body as possible, her throat dry from the hot, stinking air of the house. Her nose wrinkled as she shook her head. "Jesus, Mike, did we really survive the end of the world for this? Bagging up dead bodies?"

​"Ah, it's not that bad," he added with a wink. "We're more like... waste disposal executives. With very exclusive clientele."

​Mike shoveled the matted, dry flesh and clothes into the bag, sweat stinging his eyes, his dust mask dangling uselessly below his chin. He glanced up at his sister. After months of clearing and burning the bodies of their ravaged community, and salvaging anything of value for supplies and trade, Annie still couldn't stomach touching the dead, desiccated or otherwise. Mike felt a pang of sympathy for her, wishing there was a less gruesome task for her. But in the brutal reality of their new world, this was their only means of survival. She'd have to adapt, whether she liked it or not.

​Mike playfully shook the shovel, spraying his sister with a little dry, filthy dust. Annie shrieked, flapping the bag and letting out a shuddering bark. "Bloody hell mike stop being a dick"

​Mike stood back with the shovel at his side, laughing as the dry dust crusted on his face and stung his eyes. "Honestly, Annie We've been working in this shit for months now. If you don't like it, go live in one of the refugee camps. I hear rat kebabs are a big hit in the camp's food hall right now."

​Annie glared back. The black bag hung tightly in her grip. Her face streaked with sweat and dirt, her hair tied back in a messy bun. She was tired, too, but Mike's jibe had struck a nerve. "Oh, real nice, Mike," she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because living in a refugee camp is just a dream come true, isn't it? Just because you like playing around in rat shit doesn't mean I have to." Annie thrust the bag forward, eyes narrowed. "Just fill the fucking bag so we can get out of here," Annie grumbled.

​Mike shrugged, leaning on his shovel as he caught his breath. "Well, you're the one complaining about the work. I'm just saying, if you can't handle it, there are other options. Not great ones, but options. And at least it's more fun than your last job—stacking shelves at Tesco's." Annie snorted despite herself. Trust Mike to make even the apocalypse sound like a career advancement. But he had a point—they were survivors. While others huddled in refugee camps or struggled with basic necessities, the Cliggetts had a relatively good life, even with the taste of death always at the back of her throat. Mike did his best not to laugh as he set back to work, scraping the carpet free of some dead old woman's last remains.

​Annie grinned back at Mike and asked "So, oh mighty scavenger of the rotting delights," what next on our thrilling to do list today?" "Shall we brave the last two abodes of the dearly departed, and finally conquer this street of the houses of horrors."

​Mike chuckled. "Yeah we better finish off the last two houses. Frank will only sulk if we don’t get this street done. Big brother Frank is meant to be coming over this afternoon so we better put a show on .we don't want him thinking we are not putting in the hours knowing Frank he will dock our wages.

​The siblings finished clearing the bed room and then walked out the house to their trusty old Ford Transit pickup. The pickup bed now filled with the morning bounty of body bags containing desiccated remains, and the last of the salvaged household goods worth taking. The smell of rotten flesh and fat flies clung to the pickup. Annie and Frank leaned against the old truck, drinking Cokes. The fizzy scent of Coke mingled with the stench of the rot. "One thing about these days, besides the stench and the feasting creepy-crawlies, is how quiet it is," Annie thought, scanning the deserted street. It still felt surreal, this new reality.—just empty streets and that sickly-sweet smell of death and way to many rats her liking!!.

​Annie nudged her brother's side with her elbow, already dreading the answer. "Well, what's next?"

​"Well we could drive in to town, the refugee camp's got that new rat barbecue stand," he quipped. "Heard they're doing two-for-one on rodent kebabs. Quite the romantic spot these days." Mike jokingly replied.

​Annie just shook her head and deadpaned her reply, "I bet you'd take a date there too. 'Here love, have some premium rat meat, aged in the finest dumpster.'"

​Mike spat on the ground and grinned, that familiar mischievous glint in his eye, and nodded towards the end of the street "Come on, back to work," Mike said." He hoisted his shovel over his shoulder, the metal catching the late afternoon sun." Yeah Just another day at work for the Cliggett family cleanup crew," Annie moaned. The August sun beat down on the tarmac road, making the air shimmer above the road. Ahead of them, two more houses waited one with a childs bicycle in the overgrown front garden, and the other with broken windows.

​Mike started humming the tune to Michael Jackson's "Thriller," because he knew it would wind up his sister. Annie tried to ignore him but couldn't help remembering how they used to dance to that song at family parties. Back before they became undertakers for an apocalypse.

​"You're a knob head," Annie muttered, but fell into step beside him anyway. The siblings trudged down the silent and empty street, their heavy boots kicking up dust and loose stone chippings. Their white paper overalls, tied around their waists in the heat, flapped against their legs like flags of surrender.

​Annie, determined to recreate the dance routine from the song, launched into an enthusiastic twirl. It was going surprisingly well—until it wasn’t. Her feet, apparently having a disagreement, tangled themselves up, sending her lurching forward like a drunken penguin. "Oh, shiiit," she thought, as a wave of hot embarrassment washing over her. The thud echoed down the empty street as Annie fell facefirst on the street, stinging like a swarm of angry bees. Grit and tiny stones dug into her skin. A hot wave of pain pulsed through her forehead, and she tasted blood, metallic and sharp. Tears pricked her eyes, a mix of pain and mortification.

​Mike turned to see his sister flat out on the road. "Annie, you alright, mate?" Mike asked, becoming more concerned as he stepped up for a better look at Annie's face.

​"No, I'm not all right," Annie moaned. Still flat on her face, she slowly rolled to her side and raised a shaky arm, trying to feel the cut on her forehead with her unsteady hand.

​Mike leaned closer, unsure whether to help in case Annie took her anger from the head wound out on him. "Ooo, that's going to hurt."

​Annie reaching out her arm for Mike to help her up.

​Mike helped his sister to her feet. "Ah, it's not that bad. It's only a scratch," trying not to laugh at the spectacular welt forming on her forehead. "It's not like you're going anywhere tonight anyway." The words had barely left his mouth when Annie's fist connected with his arm.

​"Piss off," she growled. She swayed slightly, eyes unfocused. "And where the fuck, would I go? The Rat Shit Inn? The End of the World nightclub?"

​"Mike rubbed his arm. She still had her hard punch for a little woman, he thought, watching his sister with more concern than he let show. Seeing Annie wobble made his stomach clench. He forced a casual shrug. 'You sure you're alright? You look a bit… wobbly.'" He wanted to tell her to sit down, to rest, but knew she'd just snap at him.

​Annie tried to glare at him but winced instead. "You're such a dickhead," she muttered, pressing her fingers gingerly to the growing lump.

​Mike grinned, relieved to hear her sarcasm intact. He gestured toward the house's "Now, shall we check out this lovely property's? I hear the previous owners left quite suddenly."

​"After you, dickhead," Annie said quietly. "No ladies first," Mike replied, his mock bow dripping with sarcasm."

​Annie punched him hard on the arm while pushing past him. Still unsteady on her feet, she wobbled forward tripping, then suddenly fell to her knees and crawled to the side of street and hugged the grass verge. Mike scratched his shaven head and walked up to his slumped sister. He gave her a gentle kick in the leg to make sure she was still alive.

​"Fuck it, I'm staying here. You can start on the house yourself. I'm going to lay here and die. You can tell the dead i said hi!" Annie grumbled.

​"I'll start working on this one. It won't be hard for you to find once you've stopped dying—it's the one with the big hole in the front window," Mike answered his sister with chuckle.

​Spluttering grass from her mouth, Annie flinched, raised her arm, and waved her brother on to work. "I'll be there in a minute," was all she could manage to say.

​Mike whistled the tune of "Thriller" as he kicked the garden gate open, full of his usual cocky swagger. He threw one last smirking look over his shoulder at Annie, still sulking by the curb.

​The ancient gate, likely as old as the residence it protected, endured an apocalypse that claimed the lives of the homeowners while leaving the gate completely unscathed. Remarkably, its spring mechanism not only remained intact but appeared to have been unexpectedly enhanced by months of abandonment. It swung open with a force that suggested it might have harbored a silent desire for retribution against the remaining survivors of the catastrophe. This was the kind of power that would prompt an overly confident child, one who believed that kicking open gates was a form of self-expression, to reconsider every decision that had led them to that moment. The gate did not merely open; it seemed to respond with its own sense of vindication.

​WHACK

​The gate caught Mike square in the right knee, the rusty metal connecting with his kneecap in that special sweet spot that makes even the toughest person see stars. He stumbled forward, his swagger instantly replaced by a peculiar dance of pain and surprise.

​"You bastard!" Mike swung his shovel at the gate like a drunk trying to hit a wasp. The gate absorbed the blow with an ominous creak, then launched its counter-attack. It sprang back again, this time catching him behind both knees. The blow propelled him forward like a human pinball, arms windmilling, shovel flying, his dignity left far behind him on the street with his laughing sister. Mike’s impromptu journey up the garden path was not so much a walk as it was a full-scale negotiation with a landscape that had clearly decided it no longer needed humans. To his left, a row of terracotta pots stood like ancient relics of a civilization that had once believed in gardening. They were now home to a thriving ecosystem of dead flowers and stinging nettles, which had apparently formed a militant alliance against anyone foolish enough to venture near. The nettles, in particular, seemed to have evolved into something far more sinister—nature’s way of saying, “Go on, touch me, I dare you.”

​To his right, a wooden slat fence was doing its best impression of a medieval torture device. Climbing roses, once the pride of some long-forgotten gardener, had gone feral and were now engaged in a vicious campaign to reclaim the garden for the plant kingdom. Their thorns were no longer mere thorns; they were the kind of thorns that made you wonder if the roses had been taking lessons from barbed wire. Or possibly sharks.

​Mike, who had not signed up for this level of botanical hostility, began to suspect that the garden was not just overgrown but actively malevolent. It was as if the plants had held a meeting, decided humans were no longer welcome, and then set about making their point with the subtlety of a sledgehammer wrapped in poison ivy. As he stumbled at speed through the chaos, he couldn’t help but feel that the universe had a peculiar sense of humor—and that it was laughing at him.

​His momentum carried him straight to the front door, where he finally managed to stop himself by face-planting into the weathered wood with a solid THUNK..

​Behind him, he could hear Annie's muffled snorts of laughter, trying and failing to show sisterly concern. "You alright there, graceful?"

​"Shut up," Mike muttered into the door, still not moving. "This path is a death trap. Who needs a virus when you've got garden gates and roses from devil's s own garden?"

​The universe, not quite finished with its lesson in humility, chose that moment to send a light breeze, which shook loose a shower of dead rose petals and thorns onto his head.

​Dropping his bucket and putting his right foot on the doorstep, Mike took a deep breath. Hoping bad luck really doesn't come in threes, he turned the doorknob and opened the door to the familiar smell of death and rat piss. Breathing in the sweet smell, Mike almost gagged.

​Inside the House

​The door opened to a long corridor with a staircase on the left-hand side leading to the bedrooms. A room was a few feet away to the right with its door closed. From the end of the corridor, light shone through kitchen windows.

​Slightly blinded by the dusty glare, Mike walked to the kitchen. Dishes still sat neatly in order of size in the drying rack, along with knives and forks. Dust covered work units laid out in a small square-shaped pattern—sink straight ahead under the window, cooker on the left-hand side, and to the right, the fridge and washing machine. To call this kitchen compact would be a slight understatement in kitchen design.

​Learning from early experience of cleaning up after the dead, Mike knew it was always best to check the upper cupboards first. For one, there was less chance of freaked-out vermin and other furry monsters with sharp teeth running up your arm and biting you on the ear—or in some worse places. Plus, the biscuit jar was usually sat on the topmost shelf in any respectable home, and Mike was feeling peckish.

​Sadly, nothing but tinned tomatoes and beans plus bags of dried pasta and noodles. No biscuits—instead, he found a packet of chocolate-covered rice cakes. Mike shook his head; rice cakes dipped in chocolate was just wrong for so many reasons. He closed the cabinet door, turned and looked at the fridge, and decided that was going to be Annie's job.

​Walking back towards the front door, Mike tried the door handle to the unopened room, the door was slightly jammed on corner of rooms carpet, besides a layer of dust the living room would have been extremely tidy before the world went into ape shit free fall of illness, disease and death, a large screen TV was on the wall, trendy black white art on two of the other walls, a few family photos, low coffee table the room was finished off with cushioned fabric covered chair and sofa with three bubble wrap covered dead bodies wrapped tightly and sat up on the sofa like the three bears, wait!what! mike focused, then looked left then right then again focused on the sofa just to make sure the mummified corpses where still there, mike backed back in to the hallway and rushed back to front door stopped and yelled for his sister, "Annie, Annie, get in here," Annie still Street side of gate was nursing her head wound with her hand, with no big hurry slowly opened the gate, looked straight at her brother, waited a few seconds, and Yelled, "WHAT," "THERE are THREE DEAD BODIES IN HERE" yelled Mike back, Annie looking confused yelled back "there all full of dead bodies" but there like mummy dead mike yelled "Annie now standing garden path side of gate," yelled back "what a mummy, how do you know she's a mummy? are there kids with her, Annie yelled back, shuddering with the thought of clearing up dead children, mike went to yell back then coughed, "no I mean wrapped up like mummy's," he croaked, Annie half tiptoeing her way up the path avoiding the perils of the deadly plants either side of her, "who did that then?, where are they" cos I'm not carrying them downstairs.

​Meeting her brother at the front door, "mate you got to see this there wrapped up in bubble wrap head to foot, sat on a sofa".

​"You taking the piss?" "No I'm not taking the piss, honest" Mike said cheekily "If you're taking the piss, "I'll punch your head in, "Annie said as she pushed past mike into the hallway," So where are they?" Annie spoke softly now " In there" Mike whispered pointing to the living room "Ok" Annie whispered back, Annie and Mike looked at each other then slowly to the living room opened the door,

​Mike whispered, " Now what?"

​Annie still not sure what was going on, whispered back "why are we whispering?" "Because your whispering," Annie looked her brother up and down then with a quick left hook punched him in arm

​"Agh what's that for" Mike rubbed his arm and glared at Annie

​"For being a dickhead, after you, little brother, lead the way" Annie suggested to Mike with a wave of her hand.

​Mike huffed past her, muttering as he rubbed his sore arm, "In there," nodding at Annie to look in doorway to the living room, Annie peeked her head around the open door keeping her body close the wall "Shit, that's just wrong mate, who would do that! was the only reply Annie had to say as she looked at the three upright bodies, still dressed in there pyjamas, to her it looked like a family of three, mother and father either side of child about eight or ten years old sat upright legs bent, with there feet on carpet, a small pool of slimly red mess stained the carpet under there feet. the tight bubble wrap had loosened around the heel's of there feet and toes allowing the blood and body fluids to seep out.

​"Screw this. You been upstairs yet?" Annie asked Mike.

​Mike shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the mummified corpses.

​"I'm going to look, see if there's any plasters or bandages in the bathroom for my head," Annie grumbled.

​Grabbing the railing of the stairs, Annie dragged herself up, her eyes down, not wanting to look at the family photos on the wall. "Fuck this for a life," she groaned as she reached the top.

​The bathroom was the first door, straight ahead at the top of the stairs, with three opened bedroom doors on the left-hand side of the landing. Annie was in no mood to hurry. She took a quick look at the opened bedrooms as she carried on walking into the bathroom.

​The Bathroom

​It wasn't a really exciting room—washing sink under a small glazed window, bath with a closed shower curtain to her left, toilet on the right side of the sink. A small medicine cabinet with a mirrored door and two glass shelves filled with family-friendly medical supplies and very expensive aftershave stood on the right-hand side wall.

​Annie pocketed what she found in the bathroom cabinet and shelves for what they were worth taking. No plaster aids or bandages—a half-filled box of aspirin was the best there was for washing the pain in her head out. Closing the mirrored door, Annie shouted down to Mike, "There's some nice aftershave here!" Then added to herself, "To hide your rat piss body odour, you smelly bastard," as she examined the expiration date on the aspirin box.

​The Monster in the Bath

​Annie didn't notice the reflection of the shower curtain slowly being drawn back, but she did hear the curtain slowly rubbing against the curtain rail. She lifted her head and gazed at the mirrored image of a large hand pulling back the shower curtain in the bathroom cabinet's reflection.

​She slowly turned her body to meet the gaze of a heavily set, muscled, tatty tracksuit-wearing monster of a man with a snarled-up red face, spit dribbling from the side of his mouth. who was, for reasons best known to himself, sitting in the bath. The monster of a man glared at her.

​Annie stood frozen, open-mouthed. The man-monster did the same. Annie's flight-or-fight inner voice took over her body. Her eyes darted back and forth as her head remained fixed forward, parallel to the monster. She screamed, and the monster roared.

​The Chase

​Annie ran from the bathroom, banging and slipping her way down the stairs while the man-monster lurched his way out of the bathtub, pulling the curtain down. Unsteady on his feet, He turned, kicked the shower curtain wrapped around his feet out of his way, and with a mighty roar, stomped out of the bathroom.

​His eyes, now wide open with rage, looked left to right for his prey. On the third pass, he just managed to see Annie run out the front door. Mike still standing in the hall way looked up as his sister raced past him followed by a giant of a man ogre.

​Mike finally sprang into action. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he wound up for a powerful right hook aimed at the hulking figure. But before his fist could connect, the massive creature barreled into him like a freight train. Mike was hurled through the open doorway, the force of the impact sending him flying to ground. With a bone-breaking crunch, Mike landed on his back, as did the monster, the body of the monster was pressed tight against mike's body.

​Mike groaned and tried to kick out, but the big guy was just too heavy, Annie now closer to garden gate than the front door, picked up the largest flower-pot she could find and then ran back towards the house to save her brother as fast as she could in her heavy boots whilst raising the flower pot above her head soil and weeds rained down on her head.

​Running back towards her fallen brother, she crashed the flower pot on the monsters back, she was aiming for his head but couldn't slow down fast enough to make a clear aim, for next minute Annie flew in to frantically pot smashing one woman trebuchet showering the path in soil dust and flying terracotta shards,

​pounding the man-monster back and head with the terracotta cannonballs of dead flowers, weeds, and mass destruction until she sank to her knees on the garden path sweating, arms aching and forehead still bleeding.

​"Wha-what the hell going on, Mike, mike, you ok"? Annie asked in a shaky voice.

​Mike didn't move, for a few seconds then burst into life kicking and scrambling his way from under the the unmovable monster, mike managed to free his arms and dragged himself to his feet, taking a few rose thrones in his hand and lower arm as further punishment to today's events as he reached for anything to help pull himself up.

​Annie just watched still on her knees, her long brown hair now matted to her blood-soaked forehead, tips of her hair stinging her red eyes, mike looked down at the monster of a guy and roughly tapped him on the shoulders and head with his foot,

​the thick rubber soles of mikes the extra thick rubber boots rubbed hard against the skin of the monster, the monster didn't move

​wide-eyed and still on her knees Annie just looked on, then spoke: "Is, is he still alive?" Mike just stood there for moment, " I'm not sure, I think I can see him breathing, his back is still moving I think." mike was exhausted his body hurt from top to bottom, small blooded cuts on his shoulders and a large bump on the back of his head from where he hit his head in the fall.

​Unsure what do next, Mike ordered his sister over " Annie get over here".

​"Why?" Annie went to ask.

​"Because we got to do something with it, him whatever the fuck he is,

​"Do what" Annie barked back.

​"I don't know, I ring home let Frank sort it out", come on, just help me tie his hands and feet up, he's still face down, use your zip-ties to tie hands while I hold him down, mike replied.

​the two sprung into action, mike keeled on the monster shoulders and held his tree trunk thick wrists together as Annie stumbled with the zip ties finally pulling them tight

​then they did the same with the feet of the monster, the bashed and battered monster of man didn't move.

​The big guy was out cold, still, Annie gave him a little kick before jumping back behind her brother.

​"So little brother, now what!" Annie quizzed, "like I said we'd better get Frank, to let him sort it out, it might be the apocalypse, but pretty sure, killing someone is stíl a crime,

​fuck it Frank can radio the army guys in Cheltenham,

​let them sort this shit out, you wait here and I'll run back to the truck, radio big brother, get him over here,

​Annie was not happy about being left behind for no matter how long and protested "No fucking way mate am I staying with that" Annie shoving her finger at brother, mike looked at Annie, "tough shit mate I have the truck keys and I can run faster than you, you be alright, if he had any mates they would have come out by now, I'll be five minutes ten at the most, mike bopped his sister on the arm with a playful punch then booted for the garden gate and down the street to the truck.

​Annie stood wide-eyed exhausted and little pissed off with being left on her own with some nutter,

​Annie looked up to the sky and asked "why," "why me,"

​As Mike raced to the truck and radioed Frank, "Frank, Frank, it's Mike, you there?" A few seconds of static white noise filled the air before Frank answered his call. "Mike, what's up?"

​"Frank, you better get over here, mate. You're not going to believe what's just happened. Where are you?"

​"I'm with Mum, just been to Dad's grave. Mum wanted to take some flowers over, tidy the grave up a bit."

​Mike stared at the CB radio. "Well, good for you. So the fucking number one son has had a jolly of a day while I've been shoveling dead fucking corpses up," Mike raged.

​"Mike, I still have Mum in the truck with me," Frank replied with a grin on his face.

​Mike shook his head and gritted his teeth. "Hi, Mum."

​Mary Cliggett just nodded her head at her youngest son's voice crackling on the CB radio.

​Frank told Mike to calm down and to tell him the whole story from the start.

​Twenty minutes later, the three Cliggett siblings stood around the man-monster.

​"So those three in there, he did it?" Frank asked the two of them.

​Both Annie and Mike looked at each other and both answered, "I guess so," with a nod of their heads.

​Annie piped up, "I didn't really get a chance to ask any of them, to be honest. It was a bit of a chance meeting."

​Frank looked at her. "You taking the piss?"

​"What, me? No, not me. I wouldn't be taking the piss," Annie screamed at her brother. "You fucking dickhead, there's three dead bodies and some kind of nutter laid there on the path who was going to kill us. It's not a fucking hard story to follow, is it?"

​"Well, if you put it that way," Frank chipped back at Annie.

​Mike, now getting very bored with his family's conversation, walked up the garden, found himself a garden chair, and sat there just watching the showdown between his siblings.

​"So what now, Boss!!!" Annie, hands on her hips, barked at her older brother.

​Frank, rubbing his chin, then looked at Mike for a little help.

​"Don't look at me, you are the great leader!! You sort it out," Mike said, rocking back in the garden chair.

​"Well, you two are great fucking help," Frank spat at the two of them. "I'll radio Cheltenham, see if the army can send someone down to pick him up," Frank calmly said to his younger siblings, his eyes squinting in the afternoon sun.

​Frank returned to his truck outside the gate. Mary Cliggett still sat in the passenger seat. "Well?" Mum asked, a smile on her face.

​"I don't know, Mum. There's what Mike said on the radio. There's a big bloke laid on the path, and there are three wrapped-up bodies in the front room. Honest, Mum, I haven't a clue what's been going on. I'm going to radio Cheltenham, see if the army can send someone down here to sort this out," Frank reassured his old mum.

​Frank radioed the army on his CB radio. With the population drop caused by the virus, only the most essential industries and public services were allowed to stay in operation. Nearly all private mobile phones were unable to connect to their network providers. With this, the humble CB radios had made a massive comeback in the new post-apocalyptic Cotswolds as a top choice for long-distance communications.

​After explaining the situation to at least three radio operators, Frank finally got to speak to General Ollie Johnson, a round man in his late 50s and a lifetime professional soldier.

​Johnson listened to Frank's story while looking at the wall of TV monitors. Rioting had been going on all morning at the food ration station across the town. He sat forward in his chair as he watched the video feed from one of his soldier's body cam video cameras. The situation was becoming a little intense on the streets of Cheltenham. A fist came thundering at the middle screen of monitors on the wall as one of the soldiers got a smack in the mouth by a large guy in the rioting.

​Johnson shook his head and slumped in his chair, mouthing the words, "For fuck's sake."

​Johnson cleared his throat. "Frank, dear boy, it's a little tricky at the moment. We have a few small problems of our own to sort out at the moment."

​"You say you think this gentleman killed a family and kept the bodies like some sort of trophies?" Frank, a little puzzled by the general's reply, "Well, I couldn't say for sure what happened before he attacked my family, but I assume you are right, sir," replied Frank.

​"Well, Frank, do you still have the police-issued pistol you were given?" asked the general.

​Frank wasn't feeling easy by how this conversation was going. "General, I thought the guns were for last-resort protection."

​The general cut Frank off halfway through his speech. "Frank, listen, I don't have the spare manpower or time to help out with your little problem at the moment, and I'm sure you don't need an extra mouth to feed, do you know what coup de grâce would mean?"

​Frank looked at his mum in the truck; they both just shrugged. "Sir, could you say that again, maybe in plain English?" asked Frank.

​"How about if I say liquidate the problem?" replied the general.

​"Oh, General, look, we are just normal people. I never—" Frank started to say.

​The general cut Frank's pleadings off. "Frank, you and your family clear the dead. What's one more dead body? Clean this problem up for your King and country and as a personal favor to me. And I will visit your village personally next week to discuss further work for you and your family as a reward for taking this rubbish out."

​Frank sat in his truck's driver's seat, trying to take it all in. The general wanted him to shoot someone. Christ, the last thing Frank had shot was a rat with an air rifle when he was 15. Now some general who he had only met a few times and spoken to on the radio just a little more now wanted him to liquidate a problem. Frank looked at his mum for some kind of help or support. Mum looked at her 30-something son and told him to do what he had to. Frank dropped the radio receiver and asked his mum to open the glove box and hand him the pistol. Frank checked the gun over the best he could, well, at least checked to make sure there was a bullet in the magazine. Frank nodded at his mum and walked back to his siblings. Frank told them the general's suggestion and over-egged the reward. Both shook their heads. None of the family was saints before the virus and the bombs, but killing someone, that wasn't something any of them would have had the guts to do pre-apocalypse.

​Annie looked at Frank, no smart talk this time, just a look of sadness and a little shame. Mike did his best to think of some other way but just stood there. Frank stood over the monster, the pistol barrel aimed at the monster's head. Annie and Mike waited, holding their breath. Nothing happened, besides Frank's hand shaking.

​"For fuck's sake, Frank, just do it," Mike said quietly. Annie, trying to keep herself together, gave Frank a smile.

​"I can't do it," Frank said quietly, lowering the gun. He puffed out his cheeks, his face going a very bright shade of red. "Either of you two want to have a go?" Looking at Mike. The three of them just looked at each other. Mum, just about able to see what was going on over the top of the gate, shook her head. In her hand was an old photo of her dead husband who died the year before of a heart attack. She spoke to the photo as her grown children began to row over what should be done. "Well, Patrick, your kids are about as useless as you when it comes to fixing a problem. You always did have your head in the clouds and a soft heart." Mary unclipped her seatbelt and let herself out of the truck, walked up to her children.

​All three looked at her as she pushed the gate open and walked towards the three of them. All turned and tried to shield their mum from what was going to happen. Mum walked up to Frank and put her hand on his arm. She looked him in the eye and asked for the gun. There was a shared, gasped breath from the three children. "Frank, give me the gun." Frank, ashamed and feeling like a small kid, handed her the gun. Annie went to try and stop her mum but was shot down with a glare from her mum. Mike just looked down at the path.

​"Is it ready to fire?" Mum asked. Frank nodded his head. Mike, now feeling sick, turned his head away, and Annie looked like she was going to cry. Before Frank could man up and do the job himself, there was a bang, then a second. Mum had shot the monster in the top of his head, and blood and brains showed the Cliggett family. Without wiping the blood from her face, she turned and looked at her children, especially the boys. "Well, I showed you how to wipe your arse, so might as well show you how to shoot someone." Mum shoved the pistol into Frank's chest. He took the pistol from his mum, not a word from the three siblings. "Right then, I need a cup of tea. Annie, take me home, and we will let the men finish up here." Annie just nodded and followed her to the truck. Frank and Mike were left standing on the path, blood now pooling around their feet.

​Mike looked at Frank, then the body. "Well, that was fucking embarrassing."

​Frank nodded and agreed. "What a fucking nightmare. Well, don't just stand there, Mike, give me a hand to move the body inside the house. Fuck it, this place is going to go up in flames. We'll burn the whole fucking street down and forget this ever happened."

​Chapter Three: The Burnt Offering

​The two brothers grabbed the big guy by his legs and, with a heave, started dragging his heavy body towards the house. The sound of his skull scraping and thumping on the gravel path and then the wooden floor of the hallway was like a morbid drum solo, a soundtrack to their ignoble deed. Frank grunted with the effort, his face a mask of strained shame and physical exertion.

​"He's a heavy bastard, isn't he?" Mike wheezed, his knuckles white around the ankles of the dead man. "Did Mum just shoot him, or did she inject him with cement first?"

​Frank just shook his head, unable to speak. His mother, the gentle woman who had taught him to tie his shoelaces and said a prayer every Sunday, had just put two rounds in a man's head as if she were swatting a fly. He felt a weird mix of horror and pride.

​They finally heaved the body into the living room, a final, unceremonious thud echoing as they dropped it onto the shag carpet. The three mummified corpses looked on from the sofa, silent and judgmental. "Right," Frank said, a renewed sense of purpose replacing the shame. "Out to the shed. I saw a can of petrol in there this morning."

​Mike, ever the optimist, nodded. "Petrol? Oh, excellent. Time for a bit of a bonfire. You know, mate, if we’re going to be professional liquidators, we should probably invest in some kind of flame retardant overalls. It's a proper business expense."

​They worked quickly, moving with the practiced efficiency of a two-man demolition crew. The reek of petrol mingled with the sickly sweet smell of decay, a genuinely stomach-churning concoction. Frank poured the fuel over the furniture, the walls, and the gruesome trio on the sofa, while Mike splashed it liberally over the monster on the floor.

​Frank’s hand trembled slightly as he held the lighter. The flickering flame danced in the dim light of the room. It was an end to a beginning. An end to their normal life, and the start of whatever this was. He took a deep breath, and with a flick of his wrist, the room was swallowed by a roar of angry orange and red. They backed out of the house, the heat immediately sucking the air from their lungs.

​Outside, the August sun was setting. They leaned against their faithful Ford Transit pickup, its bed still reeking of rotten flesh and dried dust. The air shimmered above the road ahead of them as the fire spread from house to house. The flames consumed everything, the child's bicycle, the broken windows, all of it. Mike watched, captivated by the spectacle. "Well, that's not going to show up on the rates bill, is it?"

​Annie's face appeared in the passenger window of the truck. She'd managed to find some antiseptic wipes and a plaster for the cut on her forehead. The plaster was a small pink rectangle against the grime on her face. "Right, you two. Are we going to stand here all night watching the bloody street burn, or are we going home? Mum's threatening to sing if you don't hurry up."

​Frank and Mike exchanged a look. There was nothing more to say. They'd just burned a street down, possibly with three dead bodies and one dead-ish one in it. They'd become arsonists on the path to becoming professional murderers, all under the casual, encouraging eye of their mother.

​Mike gave his brother a small pat on the back, a gesture of shared, profound weirdness. "Just another day at the office, eh, Frank?"

​"Yeah," Frank sighed, getting into the driver's seat. "Just another bloody day."