Chapter 14

Monday, December 20^, 2027, The White Tower

Dale stood at the head of the table, eyes sweeping over each member in turn. Allegra sat nearest to him, calm and focused, her gaze steady. She didn’t speak, but her posture—straight-backed, composed—projected authority. Everyone else took their cue from her as much as from him. Tom leaned back in his chair, arms folded, a slight smirk on his face. Sven and Joe looked restless, eager to get moving. Bob scribbled notes, glancing up through his glasses every so often.

“Our focus is still clearing houses and gathering supplies,” Dale began, his voice firm. “We’re now at nineteen hundred people. That should mean faster progress. Priority is pushing north and west.”

Tom nodded, leaning forward. “Angel and Camden are going well. Decent chunk are making the cut. Some of the Whitechapel recruits are proving themselves.”

Attitudes had hardened after Whitechapel. The team was more ruthless now. A few survivors they’d taken as slaves were all too eager to exact revenge. Dale and Allegra had channelled that, turning their rage into something useful.

Sven tapped the table. “Word’s out. More people are coming to us—but others are fleeing ahead.”

“They can run,” Dale said flatly. “But not far.” He turned slightly. “Allegra, Polina, Clare—are we solid on vetting and assigning people out?”

Allegra gave the smallest nod, signalling Polina to answer.

Polina started without hesitation. “I’ve staffed up the onboarding teams. We’re holding steady. Most go to clearance crews. A few have skills—technical ones I’ve sent to Bob.” She nodded at him. Then to Clare: “There were two doctors and five nurses. Should’ve reported to you.”

“Anything else worth noting?” Allegra asked.

“A jeweller from Hatton Garden—probably not useful. A few who can ride. Some welders. Couple of chefs.”

“We’ll review that later,” Allegra said.

Dale turned. “Clare?”

“We’re maxed just on initial health screens. Running a backlog. I had to train people up, but we should be improving soon.”

“How big’s the backlog? And STIs?”

“Two-forty-two not yet checked. Told them to keep their distance. We’re running pooled tests to stretch capacity. Interviews catch some issues—but not all. We need more lab gear.”

“Polina, make sure Clare gets what she needs. One outbreak and we’re back in triage.” Dale’s tone sharpened. “During onboarding, make it clear—if anyone gets close before medical clearance, they’re out. No second chances.”

Polina nodded.

“And if someone lies during their interview—there need to be consequences.”

“What if they didn’t know?” Clare asked.

“If they should have known, they should’ve declared it.”

“Not everyone shows symptoms,” she said quietly.

“You don’t catch HIV walking the dog,” Dale said. “If you’ve lived the kind of life where it’s a risk, you should’ve said so.” He looked around the room. “If someone declares HIV, we send them away. If they don’t, and we catch them, it’s different. They get one retest. If that fails—they go in the river.”

Clare’s mouth tightened.

“We need honesty,” Dale said. “And you said yourselfresources are tight. For everything else, use your judgement. But if they should’ve declared it, they’re done. Can you live with that?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I can.”

Dale looked to Allegra, letting her lead the next piece.

“We’ve got a backlog on interviews too,” she said. “But I’m not as concerned. We’re placing eyes in key places.”

She didn’t elaborate. Internal security wasn’t for public detail—not even in this room. But everyone knew what she meant.

Dale moved on. “Five couples want to marry. Polina’s got the details. Still finalising the format.”

Tom chuckled. “From vetting to vows. Bit of a jump.”

“It builds bonds,” Dale said. “And loyalty.”

Allegra added, “Simple ceremony. In the chapel. They swear allegiance to leadership.”

Joe smirked. “You officiating, Dale?”

Dale didn’t respond at first, but a flicker of amusement touched his mouth. “Yeah. Me and Allegra. We’ll make it mean something.”

He shifted tone. “Last point—Christmas. It’s familiar. But I want something new. The old world’s dead. We need a celebration of what we’ve become.”

Sven raised a brow. “A whole new tradition?”

“Yes,” Dale said. “Survival. Strength. Allegra—you take this. Work with Natalie and Nicole. Make it something that hits home.”

Allegra’s face lit slightly. “Theme of rebirth. Unity. Endurance.”

“Exactly,” Dale said. “We’ve come through the worst. Let’s mark that. Give them something to believe in.”

Tom nodded. “That’ll build pride. Morale.”

Dale looked around the table, gaze steady. “We’re past survival. We’re shaping what comes next. Make them feel it.”

That evening, Allegra introduced Emma to his bed.

She was in her mid-thirties, nearly a decade older than him, with a calm, self-possessed air that felt rare here. Her face was striking—oval-shaped with smooth skin, expressive eyes, and a neat jawline framed by straight, dark brown hair. She wasn’t toned like some of the younger women, but her body had a quiet beauty: soft curves, natural elegance, and breasts that drew the eye without effort.

She had been a lawyer in the old world. The virus had taken her husband and one of her children. Only her four-year-old son had survived, clinging to her side until Dale’s people picked them up ten days ago. She’d made herself useful fast—smart, disciplined, and already making waves in Polina’s team. The kind of woman others noticed. The kind you didn’t waste.

He wasn’t told she’d be brought to him. They’d introduced her at dinner—nothing special, just another new face with a good track record. He didn’t know then that she’d be his dessert. Or maybe he was hers.

Now she was in his room, naked, willing, and watching him like she’d already made up her mind.

Dale was used to control. Used to people waiting for his signal. Emma didn’t wait. She stepped forward, pushed him gently back onto the bed, and climbed on top like she was staking a claim.

She kissed him deeply, her hands sliding over his chest, her body pressed to his. She didn’t rush. Her mouth moved with precision, teasing, tasting, dragging the moment out. Dale lost track of time as they kissed—minutes, maybe longer—his arousal growing unbearable under her slow, insistent pressure.

She straddled him, rubbing her wet cunt along the length of his hard shaft, grinding rather than thrusting, keeping just enough contact to drive him mad. He bucked his hips once, trying to enter her, but she pushed him down with a hand on his chest and a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

When she finally lowered herself onto him, she took him all the way in with one slow, controlled movement. Her walls wrapped around him, warm and tight, but she didn’t ride him. She just ground down in slow circles, squeezing him rhythmically with her pelvic muscles—small, precise pulses that made his whole body tense.

Dale had fucked a lot of women. Willing ones, grateful ones, greedy ones. But this was different. Emma wasn’t performing. She was using him, milking him, working herself to orgasm with quiet focus. After a few minutes her breath began to hitch, her muscles tightening in waves, her quiet moans building as her climax hit. She clenched around him so hard it broke his control.

He grunted and came inside her, hips jerking up, body taut. She stayed pressed to him as he emptied himself, her forehead against his.

They lay like that for a while, her still on top, his softening cock still inside her. She didn’t speak until her breathing slowed.

“Did you like that?” she whispered.

He managed a satisfied grunt and a lopsided smile. She gave him one last kiss, unhurried, then slid off, gathered her clothes, and left without another word.

Later, Natalie and Nicole came in, as expected. Natalie took the lead, all fire and energy. She was nearly twenty years younger than Emma, lean and athletic, with flawless skin and a hunger to please. She got him hard again easily and rode him like she was in a competition. It was good—fast, rough, loud. The kind of thing that made you feel like a king.

And still, when it was over and she curled against him, Dale found himself staring at the ceiling, remembering Emma’s calm gaze, the weight of her body, the way she took control without ever asking permission.

Natalie was incredible.

But Emma had left a mark.

Tuesday, December 21^, 2027, The White Tower

Late afternoon sunlight filtered weakly through the chapel windows, casting pale, elongated shadows across the stone walls. What once had been an altar was now a simple platform, devoid of Christian symbols, reflecting the stark pragmatism of their new reality.

Dale stood tall and imposing at the front, dressed formally in a well-fitting, dark suit, his face stern but composed. He radiated quiet authority—power that he didn’t need to claim, because everyone in the room acknowledged it instinctively. Allegra stood beside him, her petite figure accentuated by a neatly tailored black dress.

Behind them, Polina stood quietly, pen in hand, ready to record the details meticulously in the repurposed church registry. Her presence was unobtrusive, but her role was critical—each entry another marker of their community’s growth and stability.

Five couples stood before them, lined up carefully, each pair holding hands tightly, eyes focused on Dale. They had been issued with suits and dresses for the occasion. Their attire reflected their seriousness and commitment, aware of the weight of their vows.

A handful of friends and leadership team members, including Tom and Bob, watched silently from the simple benches. Tom appeared thoughtful in a neatly pressed shirt and trousers, his muscular frame relaxed but alert, while Bob sat stiffly in a formal blazer, nervously adjusting his glasses as if aware of the gravity of the moment.