Vale Decum

They came from I don't know where. Different places report different things and who am I to trust them? You cannot trust anyone anymore. I stand at a loss amongst the maelstrom of panic in Downing Street. I watch him descend from the stairs. I never thought him to be a god or a man of superiority but there's something ambivalently disturbingly calming and disturbingly panic-worthy about him. He's not a man I always agree with but he's there, always there and that makes me glad to be alive but equally frustrated that I can't do very much. He is the man with the power, I'm a puppet on a string. Maybe together, we could strangle the oncoming storm but how does one kill the undead?

He walks outside, his strides showing not a robot or a heartless man but a broken man, a grieving woman, if you'll let me paraphrase. I follow him quickly with the file of emergency protocols. Guards shoot at the hoards coming towards us. I see Vince there, bloodless, lifeless and foaming and I feel a lump in my throat. I slide into the armoured vehicle beside David and we drive away, the thunks of running people over striking in my head. Right now, I'm numb and I'm sure as I'm alive that I know it will mess me up later in time. But time is not a commodity that you can get easily so I swallow it down.

And I notice his hand holding mine for the first time. And maybe, just maybe things will be okay.