Saturday, March 2, 2013

Dead Rite chapter 138.12

Although he was lacking in his athletic prowess (and when had the sprightly constable of yesteryears become the overweight Inspector of the present?) White was confident in his analytic skills. He led them unerringly in a straight line back the way they'd come. “Where are your compass and mapping apps now, sergeant? There's no substitute for a good bit of basic knowledge. What would you do after a cataclysm, eh? When there are no electricity sockets or telephone masts to rely on? What would you do then?”

“Fins somewhere nice with my wife and quietly die, I expect sir. Either that or provide the muscle for someone who does know how to live off the land. I mean, what use would a copper be in that scenario? The skills to survive would be in the hands of the very people we've spent our lives putting away, and I don't think I'd like to be in a race for the last cheese sandwich with the likes of Nine Needles Neville or the Body Bag Butcher.”

“Ah, I see your point. There's be no room for me, either, come to that. Once Beryl and I had finished off the produce in the garden we'd be on a walk to the medicine cabinet, too.”

“Not a pleasant prospect either way, really. I'll just carry on hoping civilisation continues, I think.”

“Exactly, sergeant. That's the British way. Keep your pecker up.”

“I think that phrase had altered its meaning since your day, sir.”

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