Brenda Warren is our host for the Sunday Whirl. You can check it out and join in here
It had all started with a single fly, its bite so venomous, it would singe the skin, oozing pus and blood which became highly contagious.
In a few weeks, the virus had spread and the death count rapidly rising.
No-one was safe and there was nowhere to hide.
In a few months, food was in short supply and prices for what was available had rocketed. Eventually there was nothing left to sell as produce rotted on the shelves due to greed and the want of making a fast buck which backfired when deliveries stopped.
It was a stroke of luck not to be affected one way or the other, and if the disease didn’t get you, it was likely either circumstances or starvation would.
The authorities were confused and contradicted each other, there was no order and small towns took matters into their own hands.
People only went out at night, each time donning a mask and gloves. This was not only to protect them from the virus, but also to protect their identity as their activities were not always legitimate. Vigilante groups were in abundance.
Doors had a double lock on them now, though no-one was likely to call or visit unless they were up to no good. The old and vulnerable were told to stay in their homes, but even there they were not safe. Many kept weapons constantly by their side, having little to lose should they get the upper hand over an intruder as law enforcement had crumbled and it was everyone for themselves.