London Allies

After a global war has destroyed much of 1950s Earth, twin brothers

Chapter 1 The Ring of Europe, 1954

The two boys sat motionless on a slanted roof top, of an old street shop, peeking over the top to scan the streets. An old man with a protruding stomach lies against a wall across the road; a bottle wrapped in a paper bag was gripped in his grimy hands.

“Oh, he’s just an old street rat,” Aengus exclaimed in a low tone, his brother, Rowyn, squints at the beaten-up man

“We don’t know that, maybe he’s hiding silver in that over-grown coat of ‘is,” Rowyn suggested, smiling

“Any silver he had, probably would’ve spent it on booze already,”

“Well, don’t you just assume the best of people?” Rowyn teased, rubbing his fingers together to warm them, the gloves he had pickpocketed from a bum were in good-shape except that they had been cut, so the tops of your fingers stuck out bare in the chill.

“I’m telling ya’, it’s a waste of time,” Aengus said roughly, sliding down the side of the roof they had come up, and stopping at the edge. A minute later, Rowyn joins him.

In an empty inn, in the middle of town, a woman stands behind thick counter scribbling letters onto crinkly paper with an almost dried up pen. She taps the black pen against the parchment, persuading the ink out. She hears the back door slam. Aengus and Rowyn gait into the room, Rowyn pulls his flat cap from his head, revealing a mess of red hair. The woman, tucking a piece of her own brunette hair behind her ear, greets the two boys.

“I can hardly tell you two apart, when you take off your hat, Rowyn,” she says dismissively, continuing to scratch lines on the paper. Then, as he passes. She touches next to his eye, just above his left cheek..

"If it wasn't for that scar of yours," she says, refrencing the scar that curved around his seaweed green eye.

Aengus looks back at his identical brother, “We didn’t find any money, Ms.Miry” he says bitterly, then adds, “I think this town’s about dried up,” pulling the black bandanna form around his neck up over his mouth. Aengus sits down at one of wooden tables, kicking his feet onto the surface.

"One of Fuoco's came by, this afternoon," Miry said, twirling the pen between her calloused fingers, the boys perked up at this comment. "Wanted us to pay them double this month-"

"WHAT!" Aengus yelled,jumping up from his chair, his bandanna falling back around his neck

"I told him, he and his boss can march right back to the pits of hell, where they came from," she spoke coarsely, folding up the note she had been scribing on. Rowyn smirked.

Aengus walked over to her, retrieving the note,"I'm assuming this is to them, too,"

Ms.Miry smiled curtly, wiping her ink stained hands on her somewhat still white apron, and picking the letter out of the boys hand"they're crazy if they think their 'protection' is worth what they're asking. I'd be surprised if we could scrape together all the Euros left in the Ring, and have enough to pay two months worth," she spout

The Fuoco Dell'Inferno were not people you wanted to offend, they used to be Italy's biggest Mafia group, until Europe broke apart. Then they spread all over the continent. Most of their forces reside in The Ring of Europe,  which is the territory around the inner countries of Europe, and includes all nordic countries as well. Miry was, however, unfazed by their constant demands for money, or what they called 'taxes'. The Fuoco's had caused more than enough trouble for Miry and the two brothers, who all lived in an old Inn, which sat between an abandoned flower shop and more than empty restaurant. This Inn also had a rickety board that swung in the wind, on it were half rubbed away letters composing its name, titled The Matriarch.

You see, a devastating war has been plaguing the Earth for almost 84 years, and continues to wreak havoc On the ashes of the cities it destroyed. Although it isn't much a war anymore, after the official military crumbled. Now most battles consist of angry militias, terrorist groups, and gangs starting firefights in the streets. Life is a constant struggle for those who are brave enough to face it, and Aengus and Rowyn have been facing it for thirteen long years.

Most days, Aengus and Rowyn spend traversing the streets along the rooftops, spying on on the blokes who would wander below, mugging them if they had any valuables, trying to avoid running into gang members or hostiles. if they didn't, they’d be no way to survive,especially with Fuoco Dell’Infreno’s constant financial demands.

That night, Rowyn and Aengus tossed and turned all night, worried about Ms.Miry. and even they shared the same mattress, they didn't say a word to each other, because to them, the first one to break the silence with their fears would be the weaker brother, the standoff continued all night long, and soon the silence had grown icy. the only noise that perverted their room was the eerie creaking of the mostly wooden Hotel, and the cawing of owls that had taken refuge in the tree outside their bolted windows. it was dreary the next and the day after that, it was so miserable the boys spent most of the day inside the Inn with Miry, an truly uncommon event. Ms.Miry spent her day sweeping, and dusting the dining room and parlor/bar of the Inn, for it was the only two rooms, besides their bedrooms, that were available to them. all the other cherished places, such as the kitchen and offices had collapsed due to foreign bomber planes unloading their cargo over the quaint city. They survived on stale bread, and preserves they had stored in the cellar. Boredom had seeped in through the cracks in the hotel, and left all three of them slowly rotting in along with the cobwebs of their shelter.

"I hate it here," Rowyn's whispered quietly, only to himself, lost in the drafts of the rooms.

"Hello!" Rang a familiar voice, following by the flashy entrance of none other than their sleazy underground neighbor, Bafoul. "Did you three miss me? I know I've been gone an awful long time," his arrogant mouth continued, he had greased back black hair, with a wispy mustache, and wore a cheap suit that had but a speck of dirt on it. Probably one of the cleanest items in the whole city, and it worn by one of the dirtiest cons.

Miry rubbed her tensed temples, Aengus unsheathed his trigger knife that had been tucked away in his pocket. Rowyn, although well aware of Bafoul's presence stayed where he was, which was kicked back in a chair, his cap over his eyes.

"Whoa whoa whoa," Bafoul tensed, holding up his hands, " why the sudden hostility?"

"The Fuoco's 'ave been breathing down our necks all week, you really think we need a visit from a s****y crook like you!" Ms.Miry ranted loudly, her anger echoing through the high ceilinged room. Rowyn peered out from under his hat, while Aengus raised his knife at Bafoul.

"Do us a favor, get outta here," Aengus ordered," we know they’re after you, don't think you can hide out here,"

Ignoring Aengus's comment, Bafoul strode over to Miry who stood behind the bar.

"Miry, miry," he chanted softly," I'm not looking for handouts," suddenly his voice turned deadly serious,"in fact, i came as neutral party,”

Miry raised her head, breathing in, a pregnant pause filled the room

”neutral ,” she scoffed eventualy, pushing past the man to get to the end of the bar, where she revealed a half full bottle of brandy

the four sat around one of the small wooden tables that took up space in the front room/bar area. Aengus, using a rag to shine his rather large pocket knife, was eyeing  Bafoul carefully. The first time Aengus met Bafoul, over eight years ago, Bafoul had scammed the young boy out of two silver pieces, something Aengus was still, surprisingly, bitter about. Rowyn, having no former disagreements with Bafoul, regarded him more warmly, and even mildly enjoyed his visits although Aengus and Miry openly did not.

While Miry and Bafoul drank, they discussed as well.

“I was down on the coast for a while,” Bafoul explained, pausing to take sips of his drink, “Ain’t much there though,”

“no ships?” questions Miry

he shrugged,”a few loners, out there, ferrying people for a price, but from what i saw, the Fuoco aren’t monitoring what comes in or out,”

“of course they aren't,” Rowyn slipped in,” they’re too busy stealing from us,”

Bafoul smiled sarcastically, “so charming, your boys, Miry,” he spoke, “no wonder they’re being recruited,”

Miry slammed her empty glass down, and spoke angrily,” I’ll die before i let them go and join,”

Aengus and Rowyn, both experienced with knives and guns, and wise enough to have survived on their own when they were young. it was no wonder, they both had been approached by leaders of several gangs, and militias looking for potential members. They had been working on recruiting the twins for quite awhile, a sore subject for Miry. Each time an offer came the boys way, they had always considered it.  After all, it would excuse from being forced to pay Fuocos taxes, and it was easier to scavenge food and money being with a group. But it also took away their precious neutrality that kept them from being targeted.

"It's not up for discussion," Miry repeated, sternly to the boys, Rowyn murmured in response while Aengus stayed silent, staring at the knife in his leather clad hands.

"Anyway," Bafoul chimed in," I would have never come here, you know, with Fuoco Dell'Inferno on my tail, but I didn't have much of a choice," Bafoul pulled a small paper square from his silk sleeve, along with a somewhat full pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Sliding the note across the table to Miry, he threw the pack towards the twins, which Aengus caught swiftly.

"How about, no hard feelings for past incidents, huh?" He waged

" I 'don't smoke," Aengus retorted, living in the torn up ruins of that city, he had breathed enough ash.

"I know, they’re for your friend," Bafoul explained,"He's outside,"

The outside was mixture of gray. Light rain flurried, and the dirt was black. Glowing embers burned, and charred the rolled paper. Sinewy lines of smoke twirled the air, clouds blew from the cracked lips of boy. He was seventeen years of age, well-considered an adult nowadays. But his eyes spoke with a poignant sadness, there was a childiness about him. A jacket turned black from ash hung on his bones, it’s hood cloaked his head, and sleeves too long for his arms. Curled, brown hair fringed the paleness of his face. Hazel eyes were sunken and almost dead.