Chapter 5

Thursday, November 18, 2027, The White Tower

The two scouting squads had expanded, each now consisting of four teams of four members, led by Sven and Tom respectively. With a growing arsenal—shotguns, handguns, and the occasional hunting rifle scavenged from abandoned flats—they felt more confident pushing deeper into the deserted streets around the Tower of London. Yet none of them forgot how lethal this world had become.

Their immediate goal was to sweep through Wapping and then move north to clear Shadwell south of the train tracks. Both areas contained a mix of purpose-built apartment blocks—promising for finding survivors, though equally likely to hide hostiles. Some of those blocks included schools, and the squads hoped to rescue any children left behind. Once they finished, Dale planned to declare that sector “secured,” providing a buffer around the Tower in that direction.

They had become more systematic with each outing. Any house or building deemed “cleared” earned a big red X sprayed on the wall or door—paint courtesy of a construction site the teams had ransacked for supplies. Because the squads were venturing ever farther from their stronghold, they carried bottled water and whatever passed for lunch these days—tinned sardines, stale biscuits, dehydrated fruit—knowing they might not return until late.

Bob, meanwhile, had been obsessively mapping out ways to generate power. He’d set up a team of four permanent helpers—engineers, handymen, and one ex-electrician—who spent their days scouring nearby building sites for tools and equipment. The Tower’s generator was running on fumes, and central London hardly overflowed with diesel anymore, especially since the Ultra Low Emission Zone had phased out many diesel vehicles. Bob’s bigger vision involved tapping the solar panels on nearby office buildings. Some of the more modern ones had entire roofs covered in panels, which might still be functional if they could figure out a safe way to retrieve them. The real challenge lay in storing the energy: big batteries. Offices might have specialized batteries tucked away for backup power, or they could scavenge car batteries from electric vehicles scattered around the jammed-up roads. The risk was significant, though; London’s streets were choked with dead cars and debris, and rumour had it there were still small gangs out there driving around in whatever remained operational.

Dale caught Tom near the old armoury in the White Tower, in a corridor that smelled of gun oil and damp stone. They discussed the group’s growth. Once they hit a hundred able-bodied adults, Dale wanted to post permanent sentries round-the-clock. Tom agreed that barricading the White Tower at night would be wise until their numbers could truly hold the entire fortress.

For the rest of that day, Dale and Allegra remained secluded in one of the upper chambers, heads bent over handwritten notes and rough sketches. The conversation was hushed, the words spoken deliberate. What they were shaping went beyond just survival. This was something more.

“This has to be more than just rules,” she murmured at one point, tapping a finger against the paper. “It has to mean something.”

Dale met her gaze. “It will.”

She held his eyes a moment longer before nodding, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a small smirk playing at her lips.

When the scouting squads finally returned, the sky had taken on the purplish hue of a winter sunset. It must have been close to four o’clock, the sun dipping beneath the skeletons of skyscrapers on the horizon. Sven and Joe—exhaustion etched on their faces—delivered their update to Dale in the courtyard. Over a dozen new red X’s now graced buildings between the tracks and the river, almost up to Limehouse. With four teams working simultaneously, progress had accelerated drastically.

They had also brought back more survivors—a swelling influx of humanity that strained the Tower’s resources but was vital for its future. Eight men, fourteen women, nine teen girls, three teen boys, and four smaller children trudged in behind the squads. Their confusion and relief were obvious, though fear lingered in their eyes. The squads’ new emphasis on “appropriate additions” to the community had not gone unnoticed. Sven and Joe recounted how they’d encountered several Asian men and teen boys, along with one woman who refused to remove her hijab. As per Dale and Allegra’s orders, they were turned away—or worse.

The unspoken conclusion was grim: it was a brutal world, and building a future meant making hard decisions. In Dale’s mind—and in the minds of his closest allies—an “us versus them” mentality served a purpose. A shared enemy, even if sometimes nebulous, helped cement internal loyalty.

That night, as the newcomers settled into their cramped quarters, Dale and Allegra stood on the battlements, watching the dark city beyond.

No words. Just the understanding that everything had shifted.

Dale grabbed her wrist, then her hand, leading her back inside. No doors, no walls—only the cold stone, the quiet of sleeping bodies, the shared weight of what they were building.

They reached the mattress, and Allegra was on him in an instant.

Her petite frame fit perfectly against him, compact but strong, her movements quick and sure as she pressed herself against his chest, her hands already pushing under his shirt. Her touch was firm, demanding, nails dragging across his skin, leaving sharp little trails of heat.

Dale pinned her down easily, feeling the tautness of her body beneath him, her small but firm curves pressing against his stomach. She gasped, arching into him, her legs wrapping tight around his waist, her ass lifting slightly as she shifted, pulling him exactly where she wanted him.

She was bare beneath her sweater. He shoved it up, feeling the heat of her skin, the tight muscles beneath soft flesh. His hands slid down, gripping the firm curve of her ass, squeezing, pulling her harder against him.

Dale thrust into her, deep, rough, her sharp breath breaking against his lips as he filled her with his cock.

She matched him, grinding up into him, gasping, clutching at his shoulders, her legs locking tighter around his back. She was small, but she could take it, and she took everything he gave her. He grabbed her tight ass pushing her deeper in with each thrust. It felt so perfect.

She let out little whimpers as her body tensed. He could feel the tension building and focussed on not yet coming.

Finally, her already tight pussy gripped him as she came, her breath breaking apart in a soft, choked moan. He felt her tremble, felt the way she pulsed around him, pulling him over the edge with her.

Dale groaned, burying himself deep, his release a bliss as he filled her with his seed. In that moment she was all that mattered.

Then the soft sound of footsteps.

Nicole and Natalie slipped onto the mattress beside them, curling close without a word.

Allegra didn’t move away.

She just smiled to herself, utterly content.

Sunday, November 21, 2027, Whitechapel Road

Today was Karim’s first session on the ruling council. His cousin Ali had promoted him just yesterday. He beamed as he walked to the mosque. He was a someone now.

Karim pushed open the heavy doors to the council chamber, taking a moment to compose himself before stepping inside. He still wasn’t quite accustomed to sitting at the same table as his cousin, Ali, who led the council with a calm yet unyielding authority. Aside from Ali, there were six other members: Yusef, Farhan, Bilal, Tarek, Zahir, and Karim himself—newly raised to the council alongside them.

The seventh man, Hakim—recently called to join the council—stood near Ali, listening intently. Hakim had once worked as a police officer, so Ali valued his keen eye for detail.

It was a Sunday, and this was their first formal meeting since the last sighting of a mysterious group at the Tower of London. The men gathered around a large wooden table beneath the flickering glow of oil lamps, the winter sun already sinking low in the sky.

Ali rested his palms on the table and surveyed them, one by one. “Brothers,” he began, his voice echoing slightly against the high stone walls, “we have an urgent matter to address regarding the Tower. Karim first brought us news of survivors there, but more information has come to light.”

Yusef inclined his head respectfully. “Imam, we await your guidance.”

Ali nodded. “Karim spotted the group last week, but I sent out some of our people to do a more thorough scouting. They returned yesterday with reports: those inside the Tower of London are armed.”

A murmur rippled through the council. Bilal furrowed his brow. “Armed with what, exactly?”

Ali gave a slight shrug. “Guns, from what we can tell—most likely from the old police or military caches. Possibly knives, too. The Tower was garrisoned; it makes sense they’d find weaponry there.”

Hakim pressed his fingertips together, his gaze keen. “And their numbers?”

“Unclear,” Ali said. “Our scouts counted at least a dozen moving about, but there could be more inside. They keep a tight watch on anyone approaching. The place is fortified. It’s not worth confronting them now.”

Karim let out a quiet breath, relieved that Ali had come to the same conclusion. “That’s what I thought, too, when I first saw them,” he said. “We don’t know if they’re hostile, but if they have guns, any open attack on our part would be risky.”

“Precisely,” Ali replied. “We have no need to risk men or resources when the areas west of here city hold little of value for us. Better to focus on strengthening our own position in the areas we already control.”

Tarek, leaning forward, laced his fingers on the table. “So, we avoid them for now. But what if they grow bolder or start moving eastward?”

Karim inclined his head. “It seems they’ve grown bolder in recent days. They’ve started clearing out houses nearby, evicting anyone they don’t want—or anyone they think won’t be useful.”

Farhan’s brow furrowed. “Evicting them how?”

“By force, mostly,” Karim replied grimly. “They’ve got guns. And from what I hear, they’re only rescuing certain people—those they deem valuable or perhaps ‘their own kind.’ The rest, they turn away. Most of the people they’ve evicted are either Muslims or Blacks.”

Zahir agreed. “Many of those who were thrown out have sought refuge with us. Eight arrived over the past few days—some single men, a family of three, a young woman on her own. All of them Muslims, and all displaced by the Tower group.”

Bilal’s eyes flicked toward Ali. “The Muslims are welcome among us, of course.”

Ali nodded firmly. “They’ll help us strengthen our numbers. As for the unbelievers we will have to see.”

Ali’s gaze shifted between the council members. “We’ll keep tabs on the Tower group, but we have other concerns pressing closer to home. The truth is, we can’t ignore the unbelievers living among us—resources are too scarce to support them indefinitely.”

Hakim’s expression was unreadable, but he nodded slowly. “Agreed. As the world stands now, we must reassert our ways—no half-measures, no turning back.”

Ali dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Brothers, with the old order gone, we must finally live by the Qur’an as intended. Our family courts have functioned under Shariah for some time—partially recognized, partly in secret—but now we will administer it openly. For all.”

Zahir, who had been quiet so far, spoke up. “All, Imam? Even the kaffirs?”

“Everyone,” Ali said, his voice firm. “This is the law of God, and we can no longer allow these unbelievers to live among us as if it were still the old days. They have had countless opportunities to accept the truth. In Europe, they once called themselves the People of the Book. Now look around—are there any real Christians left? I doubt they care about that cross on their country’s flag any more than we do.”

Farhan pursed his lips. “So, no offer of conversion or dhimmi status?”

Ali shook his head. “Not this time. We did that for far too long, with little result. If they will not submit, as in the days of the Prophet, they will be enslaved. And those who resist, we will put to the sword. Harsh as it is, we have precedent. We will, of course, treat slaves justly, as the Qur’an commands—and free the righteous in time or if they are taken as wives.”

Karim noticed a brief flicker of unease on Tarek’s face, but no one voiced dissent. The council had come too far now to turn away from what they believed was God’s will.

Ali continued, “That brings us to the next resolution: we enforce the fullness of Shariah. Modest dress is now mandatory. Polygamy is sanctioned, as is our right. Women must know their place, just as men must fulfil their responsibilities.”

Zahir nodded, chin lifted. “It’s the rightful order of things. But how do we maintain it?”

Ali straightened, his voice brimming with quiet resolve. “We form an Islamic Guard, responsible for upholding the law within our territory and expanding our influence as opportunities arise. We may not have firearms, but we can arm ourselves.”

Karim drew a steadying breath, for he knew what was coming next. “I can lead this force, cousin,” he offered, meeting Ali’s gaze. “I have a handful of men I trust, and I can recruit more. We’ll keep the peace, or impose it as needed.”

Ali’s face softened. “I was going to ask just that, Karim. Your judgment is good, and your loyalty is beyond question. Gather a group that will follow Shariah wholeheartedly. Our future depends on it.”

Yusef tapped the table with a finger. “We should move quickly. The city grows more chaotic each day. If we delay, others may step forward to claim power.”

Hakim concurred, his tone crisp. “Those with guns at the Tower might be the first, but there could be others—small factions we haven’t even seen yet. The more swiftly we establish authority, the less chance anyone else has to challenge us.”

Ali raised his hands, palms outward, signalling unity. “Then let us begin. Within a few days, we will announce that Shariah is the law for all within our reach. We’ll instruct the kaffirs of their status. Those who show promise may find mercy; the rest will face the consequences.”

Bilal lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “May Allah guide us.”

A chorus of “Ameen” went around the table.

Karim bowed his head, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. As the council members stood and made their way from the hall, he couldn’t help a final glance at Ali. Between the armed survivors at the Tower and the unbelievers scattered throughout the ruins of London, their grip on power would be tested in the days to come. Still, this was the path they had chosen—and he would see it through.

Wednesday, November 24, 2027, The White Tower

The Tower courtyard lay half-shrouded in dusk, a soft wind tugging at the ragged banners that still clung to its ancient walls. Until now, these survivors had only called themselves “Dale’s group,” united more by circumstance than any shared identity. Dale was their de facto leader—a man who had rallied them through sheer force of will—but there had never been a formal moment to cement that bond or declare who they truly were.

Tonight would change all that.

After a hasty evening meal—tinned beans, bread, and what little fresh greens they could still salvage—Dale called everyone to the courtyard. Allegra worked alongside Natalie to set the stage. They lined the stone steps with torches, soaked in fuel and flickering with promise. A hush fell over the gathering crowd, drawn by the glow of firelight and the undercurrent of anticipation.

Allegra approached Dale just before he ascended to the top step. “They’re all here,” she said quietly, glancing at the hundred or so souls scattered across the courtyard. “I think tonight is the perfect time.”

Dale nodded, gratitude and resolve mingling on his face. “We need more than just survival. We need a purpose that binds us.”

When Dale stepped onto the makeshift platform, conversation ceased. All eyes fixed on him: the man who had rescued many of them from ruin, the one they relied on in a shattered city. Tom stood at Dale’s right, Joe and Sven flanked them with watchful intensity, while Allegra took up a prominent place on Dale’s left, her torch casting sharp shadows across the old stone.

Dale’s voice echoed in the still air: “You came here seeking safety, food, shelter. But we have more to offer than just temporary refuge. We have the seeds of a new beginning. And tonight, I give our gathering of survivors a true name—and a shared purpose.”

A faint ripple of curiosity spread through the crowd. Until now, they had no real banner to rally under. Dale paused, letting that expectation build, then spoke again: