This is the second fic I wrote for tropetember prompt 27 - this time it's Apocalypse. I am aware that this could easily become another wip, but for now I'm filing it here until such times as I decide to do that.

He took the cheroot out of his mouth and flicked it away. Too tired to grind it under his boots, he knew the desert didn't have anything worthwhile to burn. Couple of scrub bushes, that was all.

Time for a kip to replenish his energy. He never slept, too dangerous to be out that long. He needed to keep his wits about him at all times. There were scavengers all around, opportunists. People who would stab him in his sleep if he gave them the opportunity, even if it was only for the boots on his feet.

There was a dip in the ground that would hide him and his bike from view of all but the most inquisitive people and he settled, blanket on the ground, head on his bag and bike laid down beside him. Two hours max he would sleep, as usual, barring any incidents, and be up just before the dawn.

It was the soft tread of someone creeping around that woke him up. He didn't change his breathing at all, kept his eyes closed. Waiting. The footsteps were light, much lighter than he would have thought.

He listened. The person was breathing shallowly and stepping carefully. He waited. A shadow fell over him, and still he waited. And then he felt the light breath across his cheek and it was time.

His hand shot out, grabbing a surprisingly skinny arm. The person he had grabbed squealed and pulled and wriggled. But he held on tight.

Eventually the struggling stopped and a small sob erupted from his captive. Now was the time and he opened his eyes.

He was not expecting the person to be a kid. A kid who was currently sat beside him trying hard not to cry. And he was torn. Show mercy or not? The ghost in his head whispered at him.

'He's just a kid. Like ours used to be.'

But being soft out here could get him killed. So he held fast.

'What do you want, boy?' He said it as gruffly as possible, and he was gratified when the boy squared his shoulders.

'Food, sir. I was just looking for food.'

'What, all the way out here? Miles away from any kind of civilisation?'

'We're walking to the next outpost. The raiders burnt the last one.'

'We?'

The boy looked down for a moment. He recognised the flash of indecision, and he understood the dilemma for he faced it himself. Should they trust each other? And he saw the moment the kid made up his mind.

'Me, my brothers and sister, sir.'

'Brothers? How many of you are there?'

'There are seven of us, sir.'

'And I suppose you are the oldest? That the others are hiding?'

'Yes sir.'

He groaned to himself. The boy was so polite. And he understood completely the need to take care of family. He'd wanted kids himself, they'd planned to have a lot, but like everything else that had happened, those plans just hadn't materialised.

Nothing in the world was the way people had planned. The devastation wrought happened when he was practically the same age as the scrawny twig beside him. Billions died. No one was really sure what had started it, but within 10 years the world was a completely different place.

Shaking himself out of the memories he looked thoughtfully at the boy. The brunette looked to be about seven, all gangly skin and bones, but even in the darkness he could see the tenacity in the blue eyes.

So much like…no! He was not going there.

'How old are you, kid?' His suspicions were growing. Too gangly to be seven really.

'I'm fifteen.' It was said with all the bravado and practice of a well-used lie.

'Really.' The boy swallowed.

'Eleven. I'm eleven, sir.' That sounded better, although he still looked about seven. But that was what this life did to you. He doubted he looked as young as he was.

'Do you have a name?' The eyes stared at him, a wariness creeping back in, and he knew he'd not get an answer this time. Names were a treasure that could be stolen.

He came to a decision. Still holding the kid's arm tightly, he stood up, pulling the boy up too.

There was suddenly a weight on his back! Another kid had jumped on him, and before he could even react there was a sharp blow to his head and he was back on the floor. His last thought before he passed out was 'damn – I didn't see that coming' but it was the voices he heard that had him struggling to stay conscious.

'Gordon! I told you to wait on the ridge!'

'You took too long, Scotty! I was worried!'

The darkness took him.

When he woke up his head had been bandaged and half his food was gone. But the need to find the children overruled the anger at the loss.

Scott and Gordon. The names of two of his long-dead children.

Could it really be them? Only one way to find out.

Jeff Tracy picked up his bike, rolled a cheroot and set off.