A lull in a fight occurred a few blocks from where Lestrade and Sally had left Molly and the man. The scene was the corner of an intersection. Four very imposing stone buildings stood at each corner of the intersection. On one stood a massive grey box with cracked half-moon windows running along the top like jagged fangs. Across from it stood a smaller, but no less massive, brick-colored box with blown-out square windows on its façade. On the third corner stood the tallest building. It was a five-story place with one side made of glass. It was boot-shaped when viewed from the side. Its collapsed entrance jutted out towards the street. The fourth was the burnt husk of one of the international banks.

Beneath the eyes of these buildings ran an intersection. No human, save the craziest, dared venture along the roads. Monsters had made nests within all four buildings. There was enough room in all to accommodate hundreds of monsters of every size. Humans unwise or unlucky enough to venture by any of the buildings were never seen again.

On this night, two dozen monsters had poured into the very center of the intersection. They were half-starved things that prowled the street like mangy canines. The scraps of their rotting clothing hung loose off their frames. Their throaty growls and snarls filled the air. Nearly all of them bore thin slices that dripped blood onto the street. These came courtesy of the two men they had encircled like eager hyenas.

One was a lithe, pale man with an annoyed expression on his face. He could feel beads of sweat dripping down his shorn head. He wore a blue pair of coveralls over his regular clothes and a heavy pair of combat boots. He wore no gauntlets or gloves. At his feet lay a large green duffel bag. His companion was a stout middle-aged man. His gaunt face indicated he was someone who had lost weight far too quickly. He too wore blue coveralls and combat boots. Another large duffel bag lay at his feet. He wore fingerless black gloves with a coated grip along the palm.

Each man wielded identical weapons. Luck, ever fickle with them, had allowed them to find two scythes amidst a pile of ash two months earlier. These were not the handy tools of agriculture. These scythes were the tall, imposing kind seen in depictions of the Grim Reaper. Though their long handles were broken, both blades were still intact. It took a blitz attack by dozen child monsters to reveal the head-lopping sharpness of each blade. The men have always carried them since then.

"So, Mr. Stamford," the pale man said, "wish we had brought the map?"

Stamford rolled his eyes. "Well, Mr. Dimmock, if you had remembered to put the map into your pocket, then maybe we wouldn't have gotten lost."

Dimmock shrugged. "Would the map have helped?"

Stamford sighed. "No, probably not."

A monster charged at Dimmock. It was a pale female wearing the tattered remains of a wedding dress. She slashed at Dimmock's torso. Dimmock leapt back and clutched his scythe tighter. He dodged several wild swipes. Despite her ferocity, her hunger made her slower. When the monster reared back, readying another attack, Dimmock saw his chance. He sliced at the monster's exposed midriff. Her guttural scream made Dimmock and Stamford's ears whimper. Dimmock looked at her stomach. Blood flowed from a deep slice that made the monster topple over in pain. The other monsters immediately abandoned their human prey. They crowded around their fallen comrade.

"Come on!" shouted Stamford as he grabbed his duffel bag.

Dimmock followed suit. They began running down the street. The female's pained whimpers were cut short. Neither man turned to look over his shoulder as they both knew what they would see. It was not uncommon for monsters to cannibalize their own kind if they were too lazy or hungry to kill a human. Monster-flesh did not taste as good as human flesh, but food was food. Had the men looked, they would have seen a small crowd of monsters hovering over the now-dead female. Others had loped off to their nests, having snagged a piece of flesh or organ. The crowd would gorge on every piece of female they could until there was nothing left. When they returned to their nests, they would leave behind chewed bones and another gooey stain on the street.

Dimmock and Stamford continued running until they knew they were far enough from the monsters. They slowed down until they came to a panting stop. After a minute of catching his breath, Stamford spoke.

"Nice cut."

Dimmock chuckled a bit. "Thanks."

Stamford looked around. They were now surrounded by the crumbled remains of buildings. "Should we find shelter or do you want to continue looking for water?"

Dimmock straightened. "Let's go find some shelter. I've had enough fun for tonight."

The two men began walking down the street, chatting quietly. Their ears were perked, anticipating any odd sound that would signal trouble. As they heard nothing unusual, they continued chatting. Their talk eventually returned to the intersection.

"I guess we should consider ourselves lucky," said Stamford, "Those things seemed to be the human ones."

Dimmock nodded. "Yeah, lucky indeed. I know we got lucky tonight, but there's no telling about later."

Stamford hitched his duffel bag to his shoulder. "Well, look on the bright side. We didn't encounter the other beasts."

Dimmock stifled a shudder. In the five years since London fell to the plague, he had seen horrors that burned themselves into his memory. Monsters like those from the intersection were responsible for many atrocities and deaths. Not even their murderous skills, though, could rival the other monsters.

Sensing his friend's mood, Stamford decided to change subjects. "Where do you want to shelter for the night? I'm not as familiar with this part of town as you are."

Dimmock stopped and looked around. To his surprise, they had traversed into a block that Dimmock had passed through several times in the past. Their feet had somehow carried them into a less-dangerous part of the city. The buildings were either crumbling piles of materials or intact, empty shells.

"Let's go down one more block and turn left. There's an old clothing store we bunk in."

The two men continued walking down the street. Upon reaching the end of the block, they turned left. Stamford watched as Dimmock scanned both sides of the street, looking for the store. He did not feel annoyed at the sight of his friend looking for a building he claimed to know. It was not uncommon nowadays for buildings to be destroyed in a battle or become a nest for monsters. Eventually, Dimmock raised his arm and pointed it out.

"There it is, home for the evening," he said.

Stamford looked, expecting a regular sized store. What he saw was a black cube with blown-out windows and a decapitated mannequin jutting through one of them. The cube was small, indicating it may have been a boutique. The metal front door was still attached to its hinges. Dimmock saw the unimpressed look on his friend's face, but bit his tongue. He knew it was not much, but Stamford would see its usefulness once they entered. Dimmock walked towards it with Stamford trudging along behind him. Upon reaching the front door, they paused. Clutching their scythes tighter and taking a deep breath, they gingerly entered the building.

The interior nearly obscured by two mountains of debris. It was too dark to see what was in those massive piles, but the jutting shapes of each indicated there were more mannequins and furniture buried within each. Stamford watched Dimmock's posture relax. It was clear there were no monsters hiding inside. If there were, they would be suffering through another fight.

"Follow me," said Dimmock as he began gingerly stepping between the two mounds of debris. "Watch your eyes. There's still some sharp junk that can cut you."

Stamford said nothing as he traversed the narrow gap between the two mounds. He kept his tread light, not wishing to cause an avalanche that would give away their shelter. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out some of the items that formed the mountains. There were sooty mannequins, ripped offices chairs of every style, a few square tables, and an untold amount of clothing. After eyeballing a leering male mannequin head, Stamford retuned his attention to Dimmock. To his great surprise, strong silver light poured through a doorway in the back.

"Dimmock?" called Stamford gingerly.

"Sorry, still haven't gotten the hang of fixing this light," came the sheepish reply. The light dimmed slowly, allowing Stamford to see that the doorway was situated in the back wall of the building. As with the majority of buildings, the door was missing. Stamford stepped out from between the mountains and into the space between them and the back wall. He took a calming breath before walking through the doorway. What he saw surprised him greatly. Dimmock smiled at his friend's face.

The room was a snug, but still intact break-room. It was a windowless room of sooty wooden paneling. Two square tables stood in different parts of the room with accompanying metal chairs. Two old vending machines stood together in one far corner. The ceiling, a solid sheet of tan-colored material, had not caved in. As far as Stamford could tell, there was nothing that would cause trouble. His gaze fell to the nearest corner. The light had come from a tall, curving lamp. The single bulb glowed gently, bringing a small bit of comfort to Stamford.

"I can't believe this place still has power," said Stamford as he carried his bag to the table where Dimmock was busily emptying his.

Dimmock chuckled. "Yeah, well it took me months to figure out how to get the back-up generator to run quietly."

Stamford's head shot up. "Wait, there's a generator here! How can it still have power when the whole of London is in the dark?"

"Don't know," replied Dimmock with a shrug. He plopped into a seat. "All I know is that this place is still connected to some power station that's still on and I'm not going to complain about having light that isn't fire. Besides, I'll take a bit of human comfort where I can get it."

Stamford said nothing. He too did not mind having a small reminder of easier days. He sat down in another seat and hoisted his bag onto the table. He unzipped it and began unloading the contents. Dimmock had already finished and waited for Stamford to finish. Once he was done, both men tossed aside their bags and stared at the table.

Before their run-in at the intersection, the two had been gathering a cache of food they had hidden in the hull of a school. They had planned to search for water as their stash was dry and their canteens were low. They had managed to find two small bottles of pristine water in a different building and had planned to look for more. They had gathered enough food to sustain them for at least two days. It was not much, but they would stretch the food and water out to last. They had procured dried fruit, vegetables, jerky, and small bags of oatmeal and flour.

After a moment, Dimmock asked, "What do you want?"

"The dried tomatoes and apples," said Stamford. Dimmock slid two small blue containers to him. He in turn took a small packet of jerky and a container of dried bananas.

The two men ate in silence, savoring their fare as best as they could. They no longer had the luxury of throwing away food they disliked. Every bit was to be consumed. Their stomachs no longer grumbled if they became hungry. Theirs was a constant hunger, a deep gnawing in the gut that was never satisfied by their meager fare. This hunger craved sumptuous feasting, but the two men had learned to ignore it. They had to survive on what they ate.

Neither paid attention to the time. They chewed their dried meals slowly. Dimmock resembled a cow chewing its cud as he chewed his jerky. Stamford made his tomatoes and apples bearable by using them to reenact a scene from The Odyssey. Apple-Odysseus was slaughtering the Tomato-Suitors when a shrill whistle broke the silence.

Both men jumped. Neither said a word. They cocked their heads towards the doorway, listening for signs of disturbance. Another whistle ruptured the silence, but careful listening made clear it was coming from outside their shelter. The men looked at each other. Dimmock cocked his head towards the dark doorway. Stamford nodded. They gingerly got up and made their way back into the darkness. The light allowed them easier passage between the mountains of debris. Instead of going near the front door, they scooted to one of the windows. They crouched low and slowly lifted their heads to peek. What they saw made them drop low.

"What the hell are so many monsters doing out?" hissed Stamford.

"No idea," whispered Dimmock, "but something's disturbed them."

"What?" demanded Stamford as he inched his way back up to peek again. "I heard nothing."

"Neither did I," said Dimmock, "but whatever it is, it needs to watch out. They've got a whole army of monsters heading for them."

The two remained at the window, watching the parade of monsters pass by. Males and females of every age and size loped along the street. They tittered and clicked in excitement. Something grand had caught their attention. They moved as a herd, thinking only of that one thing. Dimmock and Stamford exchanged confused looks. Elderly monsters shuffled past, snarling at the younger ones to slow down. After fifteen minutes, the parade of monsters slowed and then ceased.

"What the hell is going on?" demanded Dimmock.

"I have no idea," said Dimmock.

Silence fell on the two. They pondered over what they had just seen. Usually, monsters moved together if there was a fresh source of food or if something alerted them to danger. They wondered what could rouse so many from their lairs. The distant boom they heard above them provided the dreadful answer.

Anderson was not a happy monster.

He had expected to kill Molly and sneak off with the unconscious man as his prize. He had expected to find some quiet hovel and enjoy sinking his teeth into the man's soft flesh. He would have enjoyed gulping down fresh blood and fattening himself on warm innards. Molly dashed those hopes by putting up a determined fight.

After barreling into her, the two tumbled to the ground. Molly winced as her back connected with the street. She cast a quick glance at the man. Her heart sank as he remained motionless, oblivious to the danger he was in. The pleased growl above her reminded her of her predicament. She cast her eyes back to the monster above her. Anderson crouched over her, his filthy face a mask of hunger. He managed to pin Molly's arms by sinking his talons into the concrete. Molly thrashed about, trying to wrench her arms free, but Anderson curled his hands and kept her trapped. Amidst her struggling, Molly saw opportunity. Anderson was in an awkward position. His upper body was pressed close to hers, but his lower body was not. He was nearly straddling her, but there was enough room between his splayed legs to allow her to move. She kept his attention by thrashing about while sneaking a leg upward. Anderson did not notice the curling leg until he felt her kick his leg. He grunted in surprise.

"Get off me, you foul thing!" she roared.

Molly rained desperate, awkward kicks on Anderson's legs, but none broke his grip on her arms. Her eyes wandered to his unprotected crotch. Uncurling her leg, she managed to deliver a kick to Anderson's groin. She feared for a terrible second that not even that broke his grip, but the shrill squeal that greeted her ears told her it did. Anderson tumbled back, his now-free hands reaching for his injured crotch. Molly, now free, delivered another kick to his groin. Anderson howled in agony and tumbled to the ground. He curled up, cupping himself gently, pained hisses escaping him.

Molly scrambled to her feet. Anderson was too busy tending to himself to pay much heed to her. She leapt to the man, reached down, seized his ankles, and tried to drag him away. Unsurprisingly, the man's dead weight proved impossible to move. Upon seeing Anderson start staggering to his feet, Molly dropped the man's ankles. Mentally muttering a prayer, she flexed the index finger of her left gauntlet. Anderson's ears perked upon hearing the smooth glide of metal of against metal. He turned his head just in time to receive a blow to the jaw that made him see stars. He tumbled back, but did not fall. He shook his head and glared at Molly.

Molly stood between him and the man. Anderson could see her eyes flaring with fear and rage under her hood. It was what she clutched in her hands that kept his attention. The weapon she had appeared to be nothing more than a hardy-looking silver baseball bat. There were two differences between it and regular metal bats. The blow told Anderson it was made of a stronger metal. (The bat was made of a metal that was light enough for Molly to wield, but heavy enough to cause damage.) There were also three rings of curved blades encircling the top section of the bat. (These appeared courtesy of a button Molly had just pressed along the handle.) Anderson failed to notice that her left gauntlet was missing.

"All right, you, I may not be Sally, but that doesn't mean I won't bash your filthy brains out!" snarled Molly as she awaited Anderson's move.

Anderson did not disappoint. With a snarl, he lunged at her. Molly side-stepped him and raised her weapon. Anderson roared as he was pelted with blows on his back. The force caused him to trip over the man and stumble to the ground. Molly gave him no reprieve.

Blow after blow, curse after curse, Molly decorated Anderson with bruising hits and slices. She gave him no time to recover. She swung her weapon, throwing her full weight and rage behind each hit, knowing that any pause would give Anderson an opening to attack. She did not pay heed to where she hit so long as Anderson wasted his energy fending her off. Sweat dripped down Molly's forehead as she thrashed him.

Despite her determination, fatigue eventually forced Molly to stop. She delivered one last blow before tottering back. Panting, she raised her bare hand and wiped away the heavy band of sweat from her forehead. Her protected hand clung to her weapon. Tiny rivulets of blood trickled down the bat while small flecks of skin clung to the rings of blades. Anderson lay crumpled on the ground, ragged gasps escaping him. His clothes were torn and blood flowed freely through them. His back and arms screamed with pain. His head throbbed from the blows Molly managed to land. Despite her threat, Anderson had managed to keep his head somewhat protected. Blood trickled down his face from the slices on his temples and forehead. It was clear to Molly that he was in no position to attack.

After a moment of rest, Molly took up her weapon. The sooner she finished off Anderson, the sooner she could tend to her charge. Grasping the handle tightly in both hands, she stepped towards Anderson. She raised her weapon high. A shuffle behind her froze her. A knowing tremor shook her. The shuffling grew louder. Molly turned around.

Her heart dropped.

Out of the shadows and buildings emerged dozens of monsters. They were men, women, and several children of various ages. A few were like Anderson in appearance. They were still human in appearance, but, like Anderson, bore the telltale markers of what they were. Molly gulped when she saw the other monsters.

When the plague struck, it did not show mercy to its victim. It ripped through every cell of the individual, causing pain that left them contorted on the ground in agonizing poses. Their mouths gaped for a scream that would never emerge. The plague meticulously transformed its victim from a thinking human being to a creature who lived to hunt, kill, and feast. The victim's brain and mind were fully engulfed by the plague. All memories, loves, wants, and needs disappeared. The only care they had was seeking human flesh. They hunted in the tattered remains of their clothing or naked. They were grimy, filthy things who lurked in the darkest nooks and crannies of every building and even underground.

Once fully engulfed, a monster recognized nothing it once knew. It was not uncommon during the plague's initial onslaught to see children attacking parents or parents gorging on their young. Molly still remembered a horrible day when she witnessed a middle-aged man ripping apart an elderly man and devouring his intestines in the middle of the crosswalk. He devoured them with gleeful relish. The only scrap of humanity she saw was when he allowed two child monsters to feast. Many of the deaths in those days were from loved ones who tried to rouse the monster from their infected slumber.

Physically, there were other changes. A victim's digestive system changed to accommodate the consumption of human blood, flesh, and innards. The limbs lengthened to the point a monster could lope along the ground like an animal with ease. The senses of sight, taste, sound, and smell became sharper and clearer. The eyes grew larger to allow in light. The teeth remained relatively normal, but became stronger and sharper. The talons were the ultimate giveaway. These were the monsters that joined their more human-looking counterparts in the street.

Molly slowly turned around. Every monster was shifting their attention between her and the man. Some shuffled forward on all fours, eagerness evident in their faces. Anderson disappeared into the growing crowd. Molly could not see him, but swore she heard him chortling. As the crowd grew larger, Molly weighed her options. She knew she had not chance of fending them off with her weapon. The monsters would kill her and the man and fight amongst themselves for their bodies. There was only one option.

The monsters halted when Molly grasped her weapon in her free hand and raised it high. Some crouched low. They were ready to spring and kill if Molly attempted to fend them off. They waited, watching Molly carefully.

Molly's index fingers made the move. Her bare finger pressed a second button on the handle of her weapon. The protected finger flexed into her palm. The monsters closest to her made to spring, but stopped when two things happened. All the monsters scrambled back when something shot out of the top of Molly's weapon. A trail of delicate silver smoke followed the object that rose high into the air. The monsters could see it was a small black sphere that had moving red markings on it. They stared as it suddenly stopped well above the street, hovering for a few moments. All leapt back in fright as it exploded into a miasma of bright red. The light lit up the street for several seconds before fading out.

The second thing happened as the object flew into the air. Molly's gauntlet began to glow a deep-orange. Crackles of yellow appeared at the fingers. Taking advantage of the lull, Molly moved closer to the man. Dropping to her knees, she lay her weapon beside him and pulled off her glowing gauntlet. She lay it on the ground beside her and tapped the middle finger twice. When the object exploded overhead, the gauntlet immediately moved. The forearm section remained still as the hand part detached and zoomed around Molly and the man. It formed a ring of rich orange that closed when the fingers extended and inserted themselves into the opening of the forearm. Molly lay a hand on her weapon, eyeing the monsters as the light overhead faded.

When they resumed their attentions on the two humans, they squawked in rage. The humans were now inside an glowing ring. The male was still unconscious while the female stared back at them warily. The younger monsters crouched low and approached the humans slowly. They raised their hands and gingerly touched the air. They hissed and yanked their hands back. Something stood between them and their feast. It delivered a quick sting to whatever touched it. The monsters with excellent sight could see it was a hazy, dome-shaped barrier that covered the humans.

For several minutes, Molly pondered what the monsters would do. A few, apparently unwilling to exert effort, departed. The majority remained around her, staring at her and the man. She could hear Anderson huffing about, but did not care what he was doing. All she wanted to know was whether the monsters would depart or try to break the barrier.

After a few moments, the monsters began to depart. Molly craned her neck to see them loping and shuffling off into the shadows. Though she felt horrid for thinking it, she prayed they would find sustenance elsewhere. Once the last few departed, Molly cast her gaze upon the man.

"I really wish you would wake up," she scolded gently, "I really don't know how I'm going to carry you and there's no telling if help is coming. I just wish you'd give me some sign that you can hear me."

She fell silent, hoping her words were penetrating the void the man's conscious was trapped in. Alas, the man did not stir or even give the slightest indication he was becoming conscious. Sighing, Molly grasped her weapon and reached for her gauntlet. A voice within stopped her.

Don't do it! They're coming back! Don't do it!

Molly raised her head and looked around.

"Help me," she whispered as dozens of monsters charged towards her.

Mrs. Hudson stifled her scream as she watched the dozens become a horde. Through her binoculars, she watched as six of the bigger monsters threw themselves against Molly's dome-shield. She could see Molly's face contort with fright as the monsters ricocheted off the dome and landed on the street. They quickly leapt forward and began slashing at the dome. Crackles of orange appeared where their talons landed. Two then took a few steps back and again threw themselves against the shield. Though they were thrown back, they picked themselves up and repeated their action. Molly's face was frozen in terror. The man beside her was still oblivious to the danger.

Lowering her binoculars, Mrs. Hudson cast a look about her. She was on the roof of one of the few tall buildings still standing in London. It gave her an excellent view of the surrounding streets. With the aid of her binoculars, she could see enemy and friend before they were near. It was helpful, but the problem now was distance. Molly was three streets away. Mrs. Hudson knew her shield could withstand repeated strikes over a short period of time. The persistence of the monsters would wear this defense down quickly. Molly's only hope was for someone to see her flare and rush to aid. Fortunately for her, Mrs. Hudson had not only seen the flare, but had one of her own.

Reaching into her coat pocket, Mrs. Hudson pulled out a small black sphere with green stripes. Grasping the top firmly, she twisted the bottom section twice before she tossed it as best as she could into the air. She managed to toss it high enough before it exploded into a cloud of green. It evaporated quickly.

"All right, someone, answer," she muttered as she took up her binoculars.

She alternated between the streets and skyline quickly. She could see that the explosion had roused some monsters out of their lairs in neighboring buildings. Her heart dropped to the street when she beheld the sight of many more monsters scurrying through the streets. The humanoids loped alongside their more monstrous counterparts in one direction. Mrs. Hudson knew they were heading for Molly.

A distant boom drew her gaze upward. Somewhere in a section of the city directly across from her, someone released another flare. A glittery haze of gold made her smile in relief.

"Good job, Angelo," she said. She knew Angelo and Harry would race towards her. She silently hoped they would see the migration of monsters and realize the greater danger.

Knowing help was coming, Mrs. Hudson took one last look at Molly. Molly's situation was worsening. The horde of monsters surrounding her was steadily multiplying. Mrs. Hudson could not count them all, but guessed there were well over a hundred monsters crowding into the street, eagerly awaiting the moment the shield broke. The stronger, larger monsters were taking turns bashing the shield any way they could. Some threw themselves against it. Others slashed at it with their talons while others pounded it with their forearms. Through the wall of monsters, Mrs. Hudson could make out Molly's petrified face.

With a huff, Mrs. Hudson lowered her binoculars and reached for her weapon. Her late husband's priceless samurai sword had been her trusted weapon since the plague hit. It had proven to be a valuable asset when confronting monsters. She gripped the cold handle and held it up. The curving blade seemed to glow in the dark.

"Well, old friend," said Mrs. Hudson as she turned and strode towards the fire escape on the opposite side of the roof, "let's go to slaughter."

Mrs. Hudson prayed that the shield would keep until she arrived.

Hello, everyone! My deepest apologies for the tardiness of this chapter and its overall length. Academics and general lack of ideas made this one hard to put together. Now that I'm on break, I'm going to try and finish this story up. In ch. 4, I will try to up the violence and gore as best as I can.