STANDARD DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations related to the Escape from New York and

Escape from LA films are wholly owned by Paramount Pictures. The story is mine.

Rated: NC17

DON'T CALL ME SNAKE

by the Scribe

tomorrow....

In the y ear 2013, life was the human race knew it, was at an end.

Its arrival was unlike anything anyone had expected. Contrary to the belief of religions across the planet, there was no Amargeddon or day of Judgment. Neither was there a nuclear fireball, or a terrible environmental catastrophe often prophesied by so many. The age of mankind did not come to a swift demise like that of the dinosaurs. In fact, one could question if it was an end at all, instead of rebirth.

The end or rebirth, whatever one might like to call it, came almost like an afterthought, like a silent stalker creeping into night. It was unexpected, completely surprising actually and without any warning whatsoever. No ominous plotting of politics or some brewing dissent somewhere in the world. After it was all said and done, when the day had come and gone, the survivors who remained in its wake, were ore astonished than afraid of the days to come.

Most people had no idea what an Electro-Magnetic Pulse was.

In the days to come, this would change. They would come to know it very well when their cars refused to move, their appliances lay dead and their telephones and television sets cut them off from everyone else. Eventually they would come to understand that two hundred years of electricity, internets, cappuccino makers and BMWs were gone. For the first time in their lives, it was necessary to learn to cook without a microwave, to communicate by some other means other than telephone or computer. Mankind had lived, but all that made him masters of the planet was gone.

It should have made things simpler, but it did not.

The descent into the dark age was swift. With the realisation of the catastrophe, came the initial panic and fear. In the United States, the most powerful nation in the world, the deterioration was at its apex. Its government scrambled to consolidate his realm by force, imposing martial law to deceive people into believing it had some plan to deal with the chaos when it was just as dumbstruck. The following days were of bloodshed from the enforcers as well as new savages who discovered the power they had now that civilian authorities were in disarray. In the end, the heavy handed soldiers, armed with terrible weapons, which ironically were the only thing that still worked, imposed martial law and were seen no better than the savages looting and pillaging freely. The revolt that followed was a taste of things to come.

A new leader was appointed to bolster public confidence in the dying regime, but it did little to stymie the flood of disaster. Rampant paranoia and fear brought out the savage worst in everyone. Local government disintegrated as old axioms began to exert themselves on years of civilisation "the survival of the fittest" became a prerequisite of the new future. The population began scrambling for resources and food. Without its vast communication network, the government was unable to consolidate any authority over its national boundaries. People began killing to survive and once that began, it was difficult to stop. Ordinary citizens armed themselves with weapons, now easily available to all, since high security systems keeping them contained were not disabled. The death toll began to rise steadily and inevitably the entire infrastructure collapsed upon itself like a house of cards. Some would argue that the infrastructure had been in danger of such a demise for a long time.

The Electromagnetic Pulse, or now simply called the Pulse, just moved things along faster.

It was in the depths of the collapse that a group of nameless thugs, whomever they might have been or whatever colours they may have worn, broke into a maximum security containment area. They found a group of terrified lab technicians who had stayed because they understood the threat they were attempting to contain now that the Pulse had destroyed all their security systems. It took little effort for the thugs to murder these unfortunate souls, who remained because they still believed in the sanctity of life, despite the carnage beyond the walls of their fortress. With blood still fresh on their hands, they destroyed the place, exalted by the raw power they now possessed. Driven by rage, paranoia, greed and all the things very much the ideology of the old days, they smashed everything once forbidden to them. Most of them were high on the drugs they'd looted from the pharmaceutical section of the building, caring little of the words emblazoned on walls everywhere. They knew nothing of what the place had been before the Pulse, knowing that the building was in ruination and thus ripe for plunder.

The canisters and vials looked like more candy for their addiction and when they were smashed, their glass shards flew in all directions across the steel floor. Their contents escaping like trapped wraiths, riding the air molecules as they travelled throughout the building, finding warmth in the living bodies around it and allowing it to be carried to the sunshine outside. The vandals left soon after, unaware of the things they carried, unaware of what they had done.

The building called CDC had little meaning to them.

The virus Ebola Zaire had less.

Once released, the pestilence travelled quickly. With little effort, it soon mutated and the worst fears of those dead lab technicians came to pass as Ebola took the city of Atlanta with more devastation that an ancient General Ulysses S Grant ever could. People began to get sick almost overnight and these numbers expanded geometrically as bloody corpses began to appear everywhere. As more and more people fell victim to it, panicked inhabitants scrambled to leave the city unaware that they were carrying Ebola to new victims

Within a month of its escape, Ebola Zaire had reached epidemic proportions. It was found on the cool beaches of the New England coast, to the heat of the Nevada desert. Fleeing masses overcame geographical boundaries that once kept Ebola contained. Its reach had little limitations, although its effects were varying. Seventy to eight percent of those who captured it died quickly, because Ebola's communicability was a 100%. Once infected, a victim could expect to die in a matter of days. Most did die quickly, drowning on their own blood as it began to seep from every orifice. These would die gasping in agony until the very end.

Some did recover, suffering only an acute fever that dissipated after a few days. Unfortunately, these were few in number. In the end, Ebola reached the Canadian borders as well as the Mexican borders and found itself new victims in tow different ends of the continent. It was highly likely that someone could have formulated a vaccine if there had been anyone to give a damn.

Two years after Ebola had escaped, its last victim was claimed. Yet its toll on the human race was harsh. The populations of the North and South American Continents had dwindled to a third of what it once was.

If there was any consolation to be found in this calamity, it was the fact that its survivors were left with a deeper appreciation of life and survival. Most were appreciative of the second chance where so many dead had none. Small communities began to emerge, some good, some violent and some there were communities at all, but small urban centres where people simply lived. Some areas had les than that. The numerous nuclear reactors across the nation, robbed of its power supply had reached critical and the following meltdowns destroyed almost as effectively as Ebola Zaire, if not more. Its radiated dead, bleaching their bones in the lethal nuclear winter.

In South America, men who were used to taking control by force and violence, found themselves the new leaders of the second dark age. Large plantations across the lush, green continent were used to harvest food crops for the first time in almost a hundred years. Its drug overlords finding out that food was an even more profitable opiate than cocaine or heroine.

Across the ocean, all was silent.

In Europe, the catastrophe had effected the continentals just as badly as it had done in the Americas. However, Ebola Zaire did not reach its shores and thus, they fared a little better. Accustomed to disaster in the wake of three world wars conducted on their home soil, Europeans knew how to handle difficult times. When the Pulse had come and gone, they had taken a deep breath, clenched their fists and readied themselves to repair the damage. City states were formed in Europe where there was talk of trading, but these were largely rumour.

In the Middle East, the Arabs and the Israelis returned to their bedouin pasts. The lack of western dollars for their oil had crippled them as surely ash their vanished technology. However, the denizens of the Middle Eastern desert sands were a hardy people and it did not take them long to recuperate. For the first time in hundreds of years, the Bedouin caravans travelled the desert again. Camels had replaced cars and the oases became the new cities.

Others did not fare so well. In China, the burdens of its massive population sounded a death knell in the famine that followed. With the destruction of modern transport, the mysterious oriental nation found itself unable to feed its people. Food supplies that normally came from foreign shores ceased to exist. To survive in the modern world China had sacrificed its agricultural past would now die for it. Meanwhile its neighbour, India, has guarded its borders, protecting their vast rice fields from Chinese raiders.

In Oceania, Australia and New Zealand, both self sufficient countries in all its vital necessities, moved quickly to protect its borders. Having the foresight to protect itself from the Pulse, it did not descent utterly into chaos and some semblance of civilised society remained. Although, not enough to help their wounded neighbours. Its waters were soon mined, its leaders perceptive enough to prevent the massive influxes of refugees from entering its shores.

In the midst of all the destruction and suffering, no one asked the question.

How did it all begin?

Most no longer cared, it was too late to assign blame or ask for retribution. Some did remember, some who remembered the last time they watched a television set and recalled a curious drama unfolded before them, prior to the end. They would have remembered a man and a rescue. They would also remember an American President on the brink of plunging the world into another war. They would have seen a President who'd slipped over the edge of sanity as he chose to sacrifice his daughter to the madness of his meaningless cause.

They would remember the man who made the final decision. A man who never cared about decisions until faced with this particular moment and found the world in his hand, and it was his choice to save it or let it die. Whether he was a saviour or a murderer, will be for the history makers to decide, if such things are ever recorded again, for he h himself, knew not which he was.

Nor would he have cared.

What he did know, was he had looked at the world in his hands and seen a ten thousand years of civilisation dissolving to a moment, where a president was willing to sacrifice his child in his quest for endless greed and power. He saw it in that one instance, that humanity had forgotten himself, mired in the filth of powerful men like this. It occurred to him that perhaps it was time to remember who they were again.

To remember why the human race had been what it was.

Sometimes, when technology and ideology eclipsed the decent heart of what was right and wrong, it became necessary to shut it all off. And after he had done that, after the Pulse took its place in history, if such things are ever recorded again, when the world slipped into the silence of child prior to its first cry from the womb, Snake Plissken's thoughts were of one thing.

Welcome back to the human race.

CHAPTER ONE

This was the noblest Roman of them all,

All the conspiracies save only he Did that they did in envy of great Caesar

He only in general honest thought,

And common good to all made one of them

His life was gentle and the elements

So mixed in him that nature might stand up

And say to all the world, "This was a man."

William Shakespeare

I

The night was deadly silent.

The road it overlooked, seemed even more silent.

There was a time when this road was a centre of activity. It an artery that pumped life with holiday makers, truck drivers and just plain ordinary folk. They all converged together in a community of travellers moving from one place to another, journeying in a seemingly endless cycle. In those days, the highway was seldom dark. There would always be light in one shape or form, to illuminated its bitumen surface for all those who travelled upon the road. Sometimes the lights would come from headlights. Other times, from campervans parked on the side of the road, truck stops along the way or even windblown dust, sparkling from the glow of moving vehicles. There was always the presence of the living then. Those days were ancient, neither were they steeped in a lifetime away. There were some that still remembered those days even now, when this road was a main highway across the Great Rockies, taking travellers from Washington State to the Canadas.

Most of those travellers might as well be dead. Well, most of them were anyway.

The only things that remembered the glorious past with any longevity were the tall, green redwoods that flanked the winding passageway of tar and rock. In the darkness, their majesty seemed more imposing than awesome. Like an ever looming black tide threatening to overtake that last remnant of the past. In some ways, it was almost poetic. For centuries' man had plowed his way through this land in one way or another, raping the land for all he was able to take from it. Now man was almost as rare as the trees and the forests he almost destroyed.

Once, a traveller could see the lights of the great city of Seattle. Its urban light would illuminate the skies as brightly as a thousand stars as one cast their gaze to the East, above the peak of the tallest conifers. Tonight, like very night since the Pulse, that magical glow was replaced by a blackness that seem to blind all things to its blanket thickness. The nights now, were of prevailing and unyielding silences, of dark nights were life was completely still. It should have been the nights that people could dream of better times with its peace and serenity, instead its resounded desolation and emptiness which felt cold and unsettling.

There was a time, not so long ago when he fit comfortably into the night, when its darkness and isolation did little to effect him. He was a man accustomed to all the dark and vile things the night had to offer. Most of his life had been spent on the edge, riding the periphery between chaos and insanity. Moments like these used to symbolise the rare periods of calm in his life. Back then, silence and stillness used to mean the interlude from one set of circumstances to another. Often those circumstances were none of his doing and his life, often a roller coaster ride, never allowed him to catch his breath before throwing him head long into another situation.

Now these interludes never seemed to end. Throughout the years, he had learnt to accept the loneliness and solitude in the manner in which he chose to live his life. In the past, he cared for little for anything or anyone, believing the only cause he should be passionate about was his won survival. There was however one exception. After it, everywhere he looked from that day on, saw the consequences of that one exception staring back at him with an accusing eye. There were people who reminded him of his actions, some who even pointed fingers of blame at him, though they seldom lived long enough to enjoy the satisfaction of their self righteous arrogance.

It was never wise to get on Snake Plissken's bad side.

The engines of the Harley Davidson Chopper he found abandoned in some nameless town, further back in his travels, roared loudly as it moved down the winding highway. In the silence of the night, the drone sounded unearthly and out of place. Weaving through the darkness on this open and forgotten highway, it stuck in his mind that he could not recall the last time he had seen another human being. It was nearly a week since he had seen anything resembling a modestly populated town or even a group of people. He supposed he could see people if he chose to take a route through the cities, but these days it was best to avoid any previously large metropolitan area. Local warlords with delusions of grandeur kept their savagery poised to maintain their new found power. The few cities he had visited had become pits of primal savagery where survival was decided by the weapons of the victor.

Then he had heard about Sanctuary.

Snake still wondered if his quest to find it was a fool's errand. He didn't know whether it existed in reality, or there would be a place for someone like him in a place like that. The rumours he heard spoken about it, painted a picture about a place governed by decent people who had managed to avoid the warlord trap so many other places had fallen prey. It was a community where everyone did they best they could, getting by in the wreck of the world.

Snake liked the sound of that.

Perhaps he was getting old. When he looked into a mirror, he knew he didn't look old, just worn. An observer would see a man in his late thirties, with dark brown shoulder length hair worn tousled, with an eye patch covering one of two ice cold blue eyes. He was ruggedly handsome, sporting a perennial day's grown on his jaw with finely chiselled features. Often wearing black leather, Snake Plissken was the stuff of notorious legend and the way he lived his life had made him the stuff of myths. Most people he met had an idea who he was, a few even knew about what he did, most however chose to keep their distance which suited him just fine. He had enough enemies without having to look out for them past every corner.

The Canadian border was about a day's travelling away and Snake didn't need to travel that far. The Harley was the only thing on the road and had been for the last hundred miles, so Snake could push the cycle at top speeds with little fear of anything getting in his way. There was still enough gas in his tank to take him all the way to Bellingham, which was just as well because he didn't intend to stop tonight. He didn't know much about this area and saw little reason to look around.

If there was one thing Snake had learned well in the last couple of years, it was the wisdom in selecting a good place to bunk down at nights. With the supplies he had on his cycle, he was a tasty target to a someone who had less. Nowadays, that category included most of the surviving population. It had taken him two years to get this far up the country and now that he had a destination in mind, he was determined to get there alive.

The day after the Pulse had been an interesting one for Snake. The President of the United States had demanded his head on a platter, even though the rest of the country was beginning its long descent into hell and resources were served better elsewhere. With a moment of passing curiosity, Snake wondered briefly what happened to the man. He had disappeared into the woodwork of hysteria and left the city far behind. Occasionally he had come across local law enforcement who actually believe there was a justice system left to bring him into and often died in the attempt. This was early on though, when most of the population had yet to realise the magnitude of the changes to come. They still believed there would be a world left for things like trials and prisons to matter any more. In some ways, it was almost ironic, considering his history.

Seventeen years ago, Snake Plissken had been arrested for armed robbery at the Federal Repository, the details of which he could barely recount as important any more. The only thing he did remember of that incident was his best friend Taylor had been shot dead. Snake had stood by and let it happen, unable to do anything to stop it. For the crime, Snake was sentenced to life imprisonment in New York State Penitentiary. While he didn't look forward to his sentence, Snake enjoyed a certain reputation that would have protected him in the instance he actually arrived on the island. Besides he knew how to bide his time and escape when the moment was at hand.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how one looked at it. Fate chose to throw an unexpected card into the game with the crash of Airforce One into the prison. Snake found himself before Bob Hauke, the supreme commander of the United State Police force who offered him a deal. At first, Snake couldn't believe his good luck. Hauke was going to give him a glider to fly into New York City and retrieved the President who was being held hostage there. Snake had never any intention of going through with the plan. He had given up any loyalty to the god and country long before this. Agreeing only because he intended to steal the plane and make good another Snake Plissken escape.

His underestimation of Bob Hauke was one of the few mistakes he never quite got over. Who knew the bastard was so sneaky, for a cop? Under the guise of vitamin supplement or some bullshit story like that, Snake allowed himself to be injected by a doctor on the premises. Not until after the shots were administered, did Hauke triumphantly tell him that he had been injected with explosive pellets that would detonate in 24 hours. And the clock was ticking. The maelstrom that followed became a part of the Snake Plissken legend.

Within a space of twenty-four hours, he entered the maximum security prison and found a world of degenerates and thugs. Street gangs had become the only law in a decaying city of lost souls. It was a place where women and gasoline were traded and used as the ultimate form of currency. It was a place Snake had barely made it out alive. He did what he had ordered to do, bringing the President out of there alive and acquiring the information so necessary for the end of the war raging at the time.

After that, there were Presidential pardons, job offers and all kinds of media attention after that. He took advantage of some of it, made a few bucks on the side. His persona and dark brooding manner made him a legend and there were people who always wanted to shake hand with a legend. Someone even wanted to make a movie but thankfully, by then he had more than enough of his fill of the high life and decided it was time to leave.

When he was far enough away from it all, far away from the cameras and Bob Hauke. Snake wandered into some out of the place bar in the middle of nowhere, to have himself a beer. Sitting down in the darkness of the place, lost in anonymity, he drank a toast to those who didn't quite make it out of New York. The unsung heroes whom he would somehow managed to survive. The story of his life.

Though he was pretty mad at Harold Helman, or Brain as he was called in New York, Snake thought wit a sad smile, there was a time Snake considered him a buddy. Watching him die just minutes away from freedom had hurt Snake when he believed it was impossible for anything to hurt him again. At the time there was little opportunity for Snake to express grief, especially with the explosive capsules inside him reaching detonation. However, he had few friends in his life, seeing Brain died was as hard as any other.

Then there was Maggie.

Maggie who was Brain's girl. Maggie, whom he had not forgotten since the day he met her and likely to remember until the day he died. Maggie had been a gift from the Duke of New York, the self named ruler of the prison. Until Brain's death, the beautiful and somewhat earthy woman became his constant companion during his tenure in New York. Something always touched Snake's jaded soul whenever he though about her. While they had shared nothing together or never could have, his thoughts of late had been about her. Especially during those last moments of her life, when she had seen Brain's broken body die with her dreams of their life outside the prison. He had the impression that it was Maggie's drive and intellect that made Brain as important as he was in New York. Snake wondered if the asshole knew it or not just how much she did love him. Maggie had loved him enough to believe that any life beyond the walls of New York wasn't worth living without it. Even a life of freedom. Snake wondered what it was like to have a woman care that much for him.

There were other players as well. Cabbie, the fading old taxi driver who still drove the streets looking for fares and the girl he is spoken to in a gutted out coffee shop in the heart of the ruined city. None of them had made it out alive. Meeting him had assured their deaths. Snake spent most of the night in that bar, in the middle of nowhere, downing beers and toasting them all, knowing that it was cold comfort in the light of day. People rarely stayed in his life for too long and Snake wished that was different too. He had obtained used to losing people a long time ago, especially after Leningrad. Nearly everyone he had ever called a friend had died there. Forty-eight men whom he would shared more than most people did in a lifetime had died in that last mission. Snake knew every one of them, knew their names, where they had come form. He had awaken in those EVAC hospital days later, with one eye useless. Taylor, his best friend had been at his bedside and told him that the others were all dead and the mission had been a ruse. Forty-eight men who were his friend had died for nothing.

So Snake Plissken the war hero came home.

What was left of home any way. He came home to find strangers living in his house, a brand new family invading the Plissken home. He would discover that his parents were dead, killed in a hostage shout at some local restaurant. The cops had botched the negotiations and that resulted in his parents being blown away by some two bit hood with too much artillery. After their deaths, the family home had been confiscated by the state and sold. So much for a homecoming.

Their deaths had been the last straw. He had a uniform, a bad e ye, two purple hearts left from a lifetime of service and the deaths of too many people on his conscience. It drove Snake over the edge of what people perceived as normal. After that he did not give a fuck about anything any more. Least of all the authorities or the governments who had done this thing to him in the first place. Being a war hero in a war America, didn't win, didn't make him a hero either.

Now the world outside was no better than New York or Los Angeles. It did not take people long to revert to baser instincts and take up past savageries thinly hidden under the veneer of civility. The disintegration was almost as complete as if those people had been criminal or moral degenerates. It only reinforced Snake's notion that there were no good people left, just those who could hide it better.

He travelled up the west coast for the last two years, keeping Canada in mind as a possible destination. With Ebola Zaire running loose around the country, Snake thought it would be wise staying away from populated areas thus reducing his chances of contracting the disease. Unfortunately there was no real safe place any where from a virus like Ebola and Snake Plissken contracted it almost a year ago. Despite his precautions, he had inadvertently entered a town in the midst of an outbreak. Even though he had vacated the area promptly, he was unable to escape the disease.

For days Snake Plissken thought he was going to die. He found himself a deserted gas station and collapsed there, convinced he was finally done for. There was a moment he had considered ending it with a bullet, sparing himself the agony to come. Strangely enough, he felt neither rage or defiance at the dying to come, accepting that he had been living on borrowed time for some years now as it was. However, the desire in him to live was too strong to enable him to depart mortality that way and Snake decided to fight until the very last minute.

After days of dehydration and delirium, after the fever had burned him alive inside out, Snake miraculously started feeling better. A week after it began, Snake found he was able to stand up and actually keep food down. Somehow, he had managed to become one of those lucky few who contracted Ebola Zaire and recovered with the only mildest of symptoms. Surviving that ordeal was a watershed moment in his life and decided his present course of action.

Realising how close he would come to dying and how his survival was a second chance, Snake decided he was not going to waste it. He was going to find himself a place where he could just live, without danger of some asshole trying to kill him or cut deals. Snake saw that goal in the Canadian mountains where he could disappear in the good clean air, without people and lots of solitude.

It was not that he did not want human companionship, but the years after the Pulse had not been kind. There was always someone out there who wanted to kill him on sight, or steal his boots or some other thing he had. Snake wanted to live where he didn't have to watch his back all the time, although that had become second nature with him. Occasionally he stopped in a town, shared a night or two with a woman who was willing. There were always some who was eager to accommodate him. He could have stayed long enough to forge bonds he supposed, but usually the women he came across were more enamoured by the legend than they were of him and his thoughts would inevitably return to Maggie.

He never did have much luck with women.

When he was in the military, he paid for most of them and the last time he had anything resembling a relationship was probably in high school. After he came home from the war and the subsequent event that followed, his interaction with the opposite sex was fleeting. Truth was, Snake didn't want an easy lay or a woman who'd look at him and see no difference between him and her last lover. Nor did he want someone who was more interested in the Snake Plissken legend than she was of him.

He wanted someone like Maggie.

Maggie was a lady, even in New York. He often thought about her, because he felt that they were kindred spirits somehow. Maggie was like him, a survivor. Doing what was necessary, with whatever was at hand with a no nonsense attitude that impressed Snake. He would never see it in any other female since. There was Taslima, a good looking and exotic beauty he met in Los Angeles, who made a pass at him in a big way after he had saved her life. If he had not been so pressed for time, he might have been able to get to know her before she died in his arms, less than an hour later.

Christ Plissken, you're getting sentimental.

That thought ran through his mind more than once as he sped down the darkened highway. There were no longer any cars on the road, so his complete attention the road was not really necessary. Besides, it did good to be able to reflect on things, especially since there was little else to see or do on a motorcycle as he continued onward to Sanctuary.

If it even existed.

The man who told him about Sanctuary to begin with, was pretty convinced that the place existed. Heh ad died soon after their encounter, but what he told Snake was worth the journey. After all, Vancouver Island was in Canada and Snake was heading in that general direction. A detour would not be too much of an inconvenience considering that there wasn't anything pressing in his future that he had to hurry. If the man was on the level about Sanctuary, then it was worth a few days of his time.

According to Garrick, Sanctuary was managed by a group of ordinary people who had somehow escaped the descent into anarchy. They had built an organised society from the ruins, following the Pulse and Ebola Zaire. Garrick who possessed an old style valve transmittter radio which was almost ancient in its use of valves instead of integrated circuits had somehow escaped the Pulse. He received a transmission from someone on the island. The discovery was more of a fluke than an actual directed broadcast and that Garrick had been contacted at all was just plain luck. He did however learn enough to leave the safety of his Portland home and start towards Sanctuary, where he crossed Snake's path.

His claims for Sanctuary seemed a little too good to be true and Snake was dubious that it was the Utopia it was mean to be. However, the fact that no warlord or power monger was killing people at a whim did make it attractive. Although he doubted everything was as harmonious as it sounded, Snake was led to believe that it was a place he could hang for a while before moving on. A more permanent arrangement would depend on what he found when he actually arrived there.

Putting down roots was likely a knee jerk reaction to almost dying of Ebola those months ago. However there were also other reasons that Snake was looking for a place where he could live his life without fear of anyone or anyone of him. He certainly wasn't as young as he used to be and the crushed dreams and hopes of his youth didn't sting as much as he used. He certainly wasn't as angry at everything as he was before and after awhile one comes to accept that things are the way they are. He'd lived his entire life saying fuck off to anyone who ever tried to cross him. It wasn't an unpleasant life. There were good times, butth ebad times were more often the case. He'd spent years dodging bullets, making deals and trying to escape from one palce to another, fighting causes he never chose to fight. When he detonated the Pulse, one of the reasons was because it was the ultiamte act of escapism, to screw those who'd tried to screw him and make sure they'd never be in a position to do it again.

Some could say it was overkill

Snake didn't think so. Besides, he rarely did things in halves. His actions despite the magnitude of its reprecussions were not only to teach the assholes a lesson but also to satisfy his sense of justice. Ever since New York, justice was something he saw very little of and Snake didn't think he was the only one who missed its presence. When he detonated the Pulse, he wanted a little justice for Maggie, Brain and all those others who had died underfoot of men with power. Even Utopia, the President's misguided daughter had searched for the same things. She had actually believed turning over the Pulse to someone like Cuervo Jones would even out the balance.

Snake hoped, with uncharacteristic sincerity, wherever she was, she had found a little peace of her own.

He wasn't afraid to admit that perhaps he was getting a little mellow in his age. It certainly didn't show. He still moved through life with an almost disinterested view of everything and a look of indifference which gave him an edge. On occasion, he even enjoyed suprising people with his depth. He knew he had surprised Utopia when he released her in the end. No, Snake Plissken was still Snake Plissken. A hard edged, dangerous son of a bitch who didn't give a shit about much except himself.

Unless he felt like it.

Maybe he wanted to see what Sanctuary was life, more oout of curisoity than anything else. There wasn't much in him that still had faith in anything, but if for one instance he could see detonating the Pulse wasn't a waste of time for the human race, then the detour would be well worth it. After so many years alone, seing what had happened after that fateful decision, he needed to convince himself that it wasn't all a big mistake. Even if it was, there wasn't much he could do about it anyway. Fortunately, conscience was not something Snake had trouble dealing with.

Either way, he wanted to kick back for awhiel and relax. After all, everyone needed a vacation now and then.

Even Snake Plissken.

CHAPTER TWO

I

He crossed into Washington County in the small hours of morning.

The sun started to make its usual appearance over the fringes of the Rocky Mountains when Snake Plissken was less than an hour away from the Canadian border. Fortunately, the rest of his journey would not take him across the great dividing range that separated the continental United States and Canada. In fact, he would make his entrance into Canadian territories, by way of the sea and small town called Bellingham on the coast.

Once upon a time, he had dreamed of flying to Canada in a stolen Gulf Fire glider. However, travelling through the splendid forests that obscured the States and Canadian boundaries, it seemed so pointless now. Even though he couldn't see them, he could imagine the abandoned immigration and custom check points that were once heavily guarded by both. Like everything else to do with the old ways, that too was forgotten, serving as relics of a bygone age.

The irony of it didn't escape him when Snake Plissken drove past the abandoned gas stations, truck stops and neglected streets signs indicative of a major road way, all faded and in ruin. It was a sad reminded to what was now gone. Snake ignored the nostalgia he felt as he moved past these things, choosing to focus his attention on getting to Bellingham, the heart of Whatcom country, Washington.

He could smell the slight tinge of sea air, intermingling with the fragrance of pine cones and resin. Even if he couldn't see the ocean, he knew it was just beyond the cover of the tall, red conifers densely populating this part of the countryside. He didn't have to far go and expected to reach Bellingham in the next hour or so. There was still no sign of anyone on the road still, although human presence more evident now, by several tell tale signs. He had passed by several homes that looked inhabited and cared for with smoke rising steadily out of their chimney stacks. Occasionally a beacon of light would call out to him through the dissipating darkness.

All of it was comforting in its own way with an aura of peace that always impressed him about this area. He could also understand why everyone chose to stay indoors. It was a cold morning and even though he was well insulated within his long, thick leather coat and flame retardant clothes, he could still feel the cold wind biting in places.

His plans were simple, pending no new situation arose when he reached the town of Bellingham. He was no stranger to Bellingham, having been here almost a lifetime ago. It was during the days when he was still a serving officer in the United States Army. Snake and his best friend Taylor, had taken leave in the coastal tourist town. Taylor was from Bellinghman, born and bred. When they had first met, this place was all the bastard could talk about.

Bellingham was like Taylor. Peaceful and sedate. It was the type of place where one could go fishing, see bears and all that nature crap that Snake despised so much when he was younger. He had never been a nature lover, lusting after the excitement of the cities and the adventurers he could find beyond his home town. When he was still in that game, Snake had thought trees and mountains were put down for cover and not much else. Christ, he had been an asshole in those days.

Youngest man to be decorated by the President, Snake almost laughed in disgust.

From what he remembered about Bellingham, it was a coastal town with an active tourist industry that depended entirely on its national parkland. There was also a scattering of resort islands off the coast and of course, regular passageway to Vancouver Island. Even though Snake doubted the existence of boating services still in operation around Bellingham now, those boats should still be there. Snake had every intention of liberating one for himself.

He reached Bellingham shortly after that. The last leg of his journey saw the highway winding alongside the jagged edge of the coast and Snake was treated to some spectacular scenery as he neared the town. Below him, the wind lashed at the cliff face, creating froth as angry waves smashed against rock. The scent of brine and fish were stronger now, wafting on the molecules of cold air.

Despite the fact the sun was shining clearly in the blue morning sky, when Snake finally drove into Bellingham, it still felt damp and miserable. The winter months at this time of the year make everything look bleak and desperate. If there was any consolation to the awful weather, it was the fact that at least it wasn't foggy as hell, which it was notoriously for doing in this part of the country.

The town was very middle America, even though it was a coastal fishing village in Snake's opinion. It was one of those places, with one library and a local museum chronicling the first settlers and celebrated a holiday for a historical even important only to them. As Snake approached it, he could see the abandoned boats, floating across the shore line and wharf where the main fishing and cruise industry used to centre. Most of these were useless. Obsolete because of the electronic circuitry within their outboard motors.

Snake paid close attention to this as he took the main road into town. There were obvious signs of the Pulse effects on the town, cars remain motionless, covered in dirt and dust after they wee pushed to the side of the road. These cars were all in their prime, sleek examples of modern automotive engineering and totally useless, as everyone seventh grader was aware now, because of their electronic circuits. The fact that the cars were pushed aside was a good sign however, some one had tried to clear the road. This indicated to Snake that the locals did attempt to rebuild some aspects of their town.

The roar of his cycle tore through town as he made his way towards the wharf. People were starting to emerge from various places. Most of the shops and houses looked deserted, but others were well maintained and the smoke rising out of its chimneys gave away the population of this sleep town. Like this, it did not look any different from any other quiet country town scattered across the American country side.

A man appeared with a shot gun in his hands. Snake decided to continue onwards nevertheless, choosing to see what the man intended before taking appropriate actions. The man was middle aged, whose family Snake noticed were cowering through the windows of the house he was trying to guard. Suddenly Snake's suspicion was disarmed somewhat, because he knew what the man was trying to do.

Pulling the cycle to a halt, Snake moved carefully, showing the man he meant no harm. Snake pulled alongside the man who had not raised his gun to fire, but held it primed in case he made any sudden moves. Snake didn't really believe that there was any real trouble, guessing that man was more probably more afraid of him than anything else. He looked like he had a family to protect and Snake couldn't begrudge him that.

"Easy," Snake replied once the cycle had come to a halt next to the man. Snake brushed aside his long coat because it didn't hurt to show the man that he was just as well armed. A glint of steel from the semi automatic hand gun in its holster around his thigh, was more than enough to convince the man he could protect himself if necessary. "Easy, I'm just passing through. I'm looking for a boat."

At that, the man relaxed visibly and loosened his grip on the twelve gauge. Glancing back at his family, he put their anxious faces to rest with a quick wave. The man was in his forties, with hard lined hands and face, which told Snake right away he was a fisherman. Dark greying hair and brown eyes looked at him with obvious relief even though Snake thought he was a little too trusting to take Snake on his word.

"Sorry about that," he apologised, gesturing to shot gun. "Can't be too careful these days. A lot strange people move through here. Some are okay, some aren't. Man's got to be careful of his family, you know?"

"Yeah," Snake shrugged looking around. A few other people had emerged from their homes. Most of them looked at Snake with a mixture curiosity and caution, but their suspicion had withered considerably since Snake had made his peace overtures. They were a motley looking bunch, no different from any other than he'd come across in his travels.

"Name's Isaac Ross," The man introduced himself, extending a hand. "You're heading to Sanctuary?"

Snake rose a brow at the mention of the name. "You know it?"

Behind Isaac his wife, a rather dowdy looking woman dressed heavily in flannel and boots, made her appearance with a rosy cheeked boy of ten. She walked quietly next to her husband with her gaze fixed firmly on Snake. Obviously finding him a little difficult to rust.

"Yeah sure," Isaac continued, oblivious to his wife's arrival. "Some of em come down here now and then to get supplies and stuff. Invited me and the family to join em a few times, but we're pretty happy here. Most of the time its peaceful and my family has been here for generations. Too much blood to walk away from."

Snake looked around the place and wondered why anyone would remain in this deserted and forgotten place. He couldn't see how any one could have a sentimental attachment to a set of abandoned buildings, just because their family had lived here once. The people looked as bleak as the rest of the town, all earing dour faces as they carried shot guns to protect this patch on earth. Earth, no one wanted. Not intending to waste to much time with the locals and impatient to get a move on, Snake steered the conversation back to his immediate requirements.

"So is there a boat around here I can use?"

They're all down the wharf." The man pointed to the water. "If you can get one going, its all yours." Isaac quickly answered, looking visibly pleased that Snake intended to move on soon. Obviously, the town were wary of all strangers and were inclined to help those passing through to be on their way as quickly as possible. Just being here brought back memories unpleasantly associated with Taylor. Snake didn't want to linger to much in the home town of his dead best friend.

************

Isaac Ross was right.

There were a number of boats that were more than sea worthy if they could just get going. According to the nautical map that Snake managed to find on board one of them, he saw the trip to Vancouver Island would take little less than a couple of hours. Unfortunately, Isaac had no idea just where Sanctuary was located on the island. Snake decided he would approach it by the southern tip and work his way up the island by land.

Besides, he was not good with boats. He knew that all forms of locomotive transportation employed some basic mechanical principles that could be applied to all. Snake's expertise was mostly with planes, gliders and helicopters, he had very little experience with naval vessels. However, he was still able to find himself an almost ancient, weather beaten and rusted out tug boat. It used a simple diesel motor that was still operational and quite appreciative of some maintenance.

Within hours of finding it, Snake had managed to take a part the motor and then reconstruct it to a state where it was possible to run and make the tug partially sea worthy. He spent a few hours of work on it, making it ready to sail and ensuring that every thing was up to scratch. It impressed him that he still maintained most of his skills. It seemed like the only thing that was in constant use these days, were his weapons skills.

Once the tug was ready, it was called the Sea Witch, Snake said his goodbye, thanking Isaac Ross for the supplies the man was generous enough to provide him with. He had the feeling Isaac was grateful to see him go as Snake was of leaving Bellingham far behind. Snake could hardly berate him for that, knowing that on first sight, his personal appearance could give cause for concern especially to those who had some idea of his reputation.

After loading his cycle onto the deck of the boat, Snake went to the controls and started guiding the Sea Witch out of Bellingham's seldom used harbour. The midday sun had began its descent even though it was hard to tell the difference. Heavy cloud cover kept the day pretty grey and bleak and not even the noon day sun could penetrate the thick blanket of cumulous clouds covering everything.

Despite the weather, the wind was strong enough to be manageable and while the seas were choppy, did very little to hinder his journey across the ocean to Vancouver Island. He had no difficulty weaving though the small islands that littered the way to Vancouver Island even though it was years since he'd made a sea going voyage anywhere. During the war, he'd always been airlifted to the target and since the central hub of the Soviet government was deep in the heart of Asia, there was little use of naval travel.

Still Snake wanted to get there before it could get too dark. Isaac had warned him about drifting boats that were still out there on the water, abandoned when the Pulse rendered them powerless without their motors. With no power whatsoever, most people had opted to abandon ship, so many of these vessels were still out here, with no marking buoys to warn anyone of the danger the represented until a collision was eminent.

Snake Plissken hated the idea of coming all this way just to drown.

The journey to Vancouver Island did not take as long as he anticipated and the time seem to pass quicker, the further it moved into the day. By evening, Snake had begun to sight the craggy, rock shore of the island. The sun had begun to sink into the horizon and the blanket of dark following, promised a pitch black night, since he could not see the sun. Snake wanted to be well out of its reach before that darkness made its arrival. Turning the boat towards the shoreline, he skirted the edges of the island, searching for a suitable place to dock.

Vancouver Island was the largest land mass in the area aside from the continent itself. The smaller islands that he had come across were nothing in comparison to it. A very healthy population was cable of surviving within its tall coniferous forests, mountains and lakes. Once a popular outdoor camping location, it was famous for its trout filled lakes, plentiful forests and large tracts of land perfect for arable farming. It was therefore quite conceivable, than an intelligent mind could sustain several thousand people by making use of these natural assets. He wondered if that was how Sanctuary came to be.

An hour into the dark, Snake found at last, a lone jetty in a deserted part of the forests. He let out a sigh of relief, not liking to be on the boat any longer than necessary. The night had descended in all its entirety and the horizon was as black as anything. He looked beyond the bow of the ship and saw nothing except that impregnable black canvas. Steering the craft gently, the boat drifted towards the wooden jetty, with small waves slapping against the faded hull. It floated forward without sound once Snake had cut the engine and let it move forward on its own momentum.

The boat rolled gently forward, reaching its destination with a slight bump when it hit the wood of the jetty. In the waters around the wharf, Snake could see the silhouette of other vessels, floating stationery. It was too dark for him to tell if they were sea going or not. As it was, there was just barely enough light for him to see a few meters ahead and he was one used to moving around at night. Fortunately, Snake had brought the necessary equipment to offload most of his gear including his motor cycle.

Once he was on shore with his belongings, Snake climbed on to his cycle and off into the night.

II

He didn't need to ride very far.

Less than a mile actually. Snake arrived in the darkened streets of Victoria city, the largest city and capital of Vancouver Island. As Snake pulled the cycle to a halt, he saw a city that hadn't escaped the paranoia that ran rampant elsewhere in the world, after the Pulse. The buildings were clearly in a state of disrepair, looking no different from New York actually. There was garbage on the roads, smashed and stripped cars on the sides of road, graffiti covering the walls of most buildings and every indication that this was an urban jungle. It certainly didn't look like Sanctuary. It also struck Snake that there weren't any people about. While he accepted that it was dark and people probably felt safer indoors, especially when there was little light outside, but there was always some trace of a life. A cat running across the street and some mice scurrying in dark corners was all the life that Snake could see. As the engines of his bike slowed to a low rumble, Snake found himself in a street that looked like once was a busy neighbourhood. Not any more however. The abandoned shops and homes were slipping further into dereliction with each passing moment.

Once again, it reminded him of New York City and that sent an uncharacteristic thrill down his spine. The intersection was deserted, with cars upturned and some were even smashed out of the way, the indentations and impact marks having scrapped their path to the pavements. At this moment, Snake was starting to question this whole idea of Sanctuary's existence and wondered why he had been gullible enough to believe in some half assed fantasy. He sat astride the chopper for a few minutes trying to decide what he ought to do next.

The most sensible thing would be to find someone and ask them what he needed to know, but looking around at the deserted street, made that a little difficult. He wondered at the lack of lights of any kind. This was unusual because while he could understand the absence of electric lights, he had not been any place where they didn't employ use of some alternate form of fuel. Even if it was kerosene, wood or oil. Despite any amount of devastation, there was always that one fundamental characteristic. Where was everybody, he wondered. There was always people around, even if they were hiding in the darkness. Some were even psychotics and down right crazy, but at least they were there.

After reflecting a few minutes, his attention was captured by a scurrying rat across a garbage strew floor. Snapping to attention, Snake tensed and saw a running child moving through the night. The child had been trying to avoid the headlights of his motor cycle, but was unable to prevent himself from being seen. He froze as it ran in front of Snake, staring at him for an instance like a mesmerised deer caught in the headlight of some car. Snake regarded the child for a second, making no moves to or from him. The child was a little boy wearing thick heavy clothes, all to big for him and cut crudely to fit, with grime covering his face.

"Please don't tell." He pleaded at Snake.

"Don't tell what?" Snake asked disinterested.

The child didn't wait around to elaborate, choosing to scamper away into a nearby building. Snake was tempted to follow but he had his own concerns and it didn't look like the kid wanted company any way. He supposed he would have to go in at some point though, especially if there were people in there. He needed answers.

Snake was about to shut his engines down when he heard the unmistakable roar of car approaching fast. Loud voices, rowdy with rancour and too much booze, sailed above the load roar of a clapped out motor. These voices put Snake on guard immediately. Resting his hand gently against his gun, Snake waited coolly as the headlights of the vehicle sped towards him.

The car came to a screeching halt once the beam of light fell on him. It was occupied by at least three men who were heavily armed and looked like street thugs. Snake didn't see any reason to get hostile just yet, even though he was poised to react at a moments notice. If all possible Snake wanted to get some answers. Like where the hell Sanctuary was supposed to be and if it did not exist, which son of a bitch to kill for sending him on a wild goose chase.

"Who the fuck are you?" The first man demanded. A Latino dressed in a mixture of whatever was available, mostly fatigues and civvies. The most impressive thing about him however, was the weapon he was carrying.

"Hey," the second man suddenly exclaimed in excitement, before Snake could respond. The man stared hard at Snake for a second, with recognition quickly flooding into his blue eyes. "I know this guy, its Snake Plissken."

"Snake Plissken?" The third one declared and by now Snake had almost ignored paying any attention to what he looked like and more concerned on how he was going to deal with them. "He's dead isn't he?"

"I thought he was taller." The Latino retorted, never taking his eyes off Snake's face. "You Plissken?"

Snake ignored the question. "Is this place Sanctuary?" He asked doubtfully.

The question inspired the three to start laughing hard for a few seconds, a reaction which did little to improve Snake's ever worsening patience.

"Sanctuary?" The Latino spoke after regaining his composure. "Pal you're in the wrong place for everything. In fact, I think the boss would like to talk to you." His features immediately hardened as he raised his gun at Snake. The others followed suit immediately. "Get off the bike."

Snake did nothing of the kind.

Suddenly, a can skittered across the road. Its impact on the granite road caught all three's attention with surprise. They swung around instinctively, giving Snake the opportunity to react. That window of chance was all he needed and Snake used it most effectively. Going for his gun, he fired both guns, cutting all three down before they had a chance to return fire. All three went down in the jeep they were standing on within seconds. They jerked around unceremoniously, uttering short cries as bullets tore through their chests before collapsing on the seats in a bloody mess.

Snake cursed under his breath, angered by the fact that he didn't get a chance to question them about Sanctuary. Their responses to his question previously was more confusing than ever. They said he was in the wrong place. If so where was Sanctuary on Vancouver Island? Deciding it would do no good to get madder, Snake sat back on his cycle and pulled out a cigarette. He was about to light it when he paused a moment and looked into the darkness ahead.

"Come on out." He said smoothly.

For a second , there was no response. Then after a brief pause, the child he had seen before emerged from the shadowy alley where he had hidden away during Snake's exchange with the three goons. He walked towards Snake gingerly, having decided the stranger would not harm him and was impressed by how well he had handled the three men before. The boy cringed a bit at the sight of the dead bodies and kept moving onward, forcing himself not to look as he walked past the jeep. He was no more than ten years old, Snake decided.

He stopped in front of Snake, saying nothing. Snake could tell he was scared, even though he was trying his level best to hide it. Despite this, Snake found himself offering the boy a faint smile of reassurance. "Your timing was okay." Snake replied. "Thanks."

"Are you really Snake Plissken?" He asked with a hushed voice.

Snake nodded. "Yeah I am. What's your name?"

"Aaron." He answered. "I used to read about you. Did you really rescue the President of America?"

That was a subject that Snake really did not want to get into, especially with a ten year old. "Its a little past your bed time isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said with a bashful smile. "I gotta get to my dad. You better come to."

"Why?" Snake asked disinterested.

"Cos you killed the Englishman's men! He'll be mad at you for sure. You gotta to come with me and my dad. We're going to Sanctuary too."

"So its real?" Snake asked, motioning the kid forward.

"Yeah," Aaron said enthusiastically climbing onto the back of the bike, where Snake had instructed him to do so. "Its not here though. My dad says its up west."

"So what's this place?" Snake asked, ramming his foot down on the pedal and bringing the bike to life under both of them.

"This place belongs to the Englishman," Aaron responded. "This is the Zone."

CHAPTER THREE

I

Sanctuary did exist.

Snake learned this while he and Aaron travelled through the ill lit catacombs of Victoria City, or the Zone as it was known nowadays. Aaron knew his way around, having lived most of his life here. He was a good guide, knowing from experience after months of hiding, which routes were best to take when attempting to keep under the notice of the Zone's masters. Snake still couldn't believe his luck. He had come to this island in the hopes of finding some peace and quiet, after the string of violence situations he had found himself. Now it looked as if he had just walked freely into exactly the same circumstances. After killing those three thugs earlier in the night, Aaron had assured him that he would surely want retribution. If Snake could shoot someone for the mistake, he would have.

The Englishman, as Aaron explained it, was the complete master of the Zone. Everything and everyone in this territory were subject to the main's will. If the Englishman said you had to die, then there were people who saw to it that happened. Aaron and his family had escaped the camps and had been hiding out in abandoned part of the city until they could get in touch with the Underground who would smuggle them to Sanctuary. Most of the Zone's inhabitants lived out their lives in designated area that had to do with the type of work they were required to preform. Aaron's family were designated clan up units. They were required to clean up the city street, removing everything from corpses to damaged vehicles. It was hard work and their cooperation was enforced by the Englishman's foot soldiers and the weapons they carried.

Beyond that, the boy didn't know much else and assured Snake that his father would be able to answer his questions. Snake hoped this was the case, because he was pretty mad as hell about being caught in this situation, especially when this was all he had been trying to avoid. Not that he was afraid of the Englishman or anything. It was just that Snake had seen enough individuals like the Zone's petty dictator to know that they were all the same. These were scumbags who used force and guns to place themselves on top, subjugating those who were too afraid to fight back and using those who wanted nothing else but to fight. Assholes like these were often astonished by people who could fight back.

Like he could.

Snake did however, learn that Sanctuary was on the other side of Vancouver Island. Judging from Aaron's description of events, the Englishman was forced into some sort of territorial agreement with the leaders of Sanctuary. Aaron didn't know much after that, but it was easy enough for Snake to tell a few things. The Englishman and all the others like him did not take orders or agree to any kind of treaty unless there was some serous power to be reckoned with. Those who ran Sanctuary must have been a force of its own, if the Englishman was forced to obey treaty stipulations.

Aaron took Snake through a maze of side streets and dark alleys. Snake had to admit he was impressed by the child's versatility and that he could make any discernible difference between one darkened crevice from another. Snake was an expert at urban infiltration and combat, found this terrain to be quiet comfortable, despite the danger. Shadows and black corners did not frighten him and most of the time, he felt more at ease in the night than any other place. From New York to LA, he'd been chosen for those missions for those very same abilities, that and his desire to survive at any costs.

After the Pulse, he supposed such skills would be a rudimentary survival skill of the new generation borne out of the rubble.

Finally, they arrived at any area that looked less hostile, if such a thing was possible. There were small fires burning and lanterns lit across the blocks, illuminating dirty windows in myriad of frosty lights. The bulbs of the street lamps were replaced by hanging lanterns, burning on kerosene lighting up the street as best it could. The place had an unearthly quality about it, reminding Snake of a darkened Victorian street, in the heart of London's East End.

There were people here, however. Children were playing games on the grey sidewalk, dressed in a patchwork of ragged clothes, with faces grimy and dirty, while old men warmed their hands over fires made in large bins. They passed bottles of booze around the circle, taking tasty swigs before passing it along. This looked so much like war torn Russia, it was frightening. He had seen similar scenes before, after a town had been ravished by a battle. This looked less savage but awfully similar.

At the sound of the Chopper's engines, people looked up and stared at his headlights like frightened animals. Within seconds, they had scurried away into their homes and their hiding places like frightened roaches. Snake saw no offence at that. The men with technology in this place were usually working for the Englishman, why shouldn't they be afraid of him. At Aaron's directions, he drove the motor bike to a kerb, bringing it halt in front of a derelict building on the corner. It was in worse shape than the rest, with holes in its walls and burnt out on the top floor.

Aaron looked at the deserted place and then turned to Snake. "It's okay Snake, they're just scared."

"Doesn't mean shit to me." Snake mumbled under his breath, switching off the bike's engines and studying the surrounding area carefully. He didn't like it. Too many places for someone to keep a good eye on you without being seen. Not to mention the layout of the street made it difficult to escape in case of an ambush. He didn't like the idea of what Aaron deemed as safe.

"Come on." The boy urged, hurrying up the steps of the building. "We gotta be inside. We can't be out, there's a curfew."

Snake said nothing, but his displeasure was apparent by the unmistakable frown on his face. As it was, he didn't know why he was following this kid. The smarter thing to do would be to get the hell out of here before anything else happened. He still had a boat out there no one knew about and there was no reason why he couldn't find Sanctuary, now that he knew where its general location was. Either way, avoiding the Englishman was a good idea he should be following.

Entering the dimly lit building, Snake kept Aaron in view as the kid ran up the filthy corridor. There were people hurrying indoors at the sight of him and that made him uncomfortable. He liked keeping a low profile and hated it when he was the focus of so much attention. It seemed as if everyone knew he was here.

The corridor was filthy, with wall paper peeling of the brick, bits of plaster on the rotting carpeted hallway and ugly smudges of what Snake was sure was human waste and blood on the walls. There was the smell of dank moisture, urine and mould thick in the air and Snake took care not to touch anything. Aaron turned down a flight of stairs that descended into the basement level. As Snake followed him down there, he found that the basement was worse off than the corridor, if such a thing was humanly possible. Now Snake was straining to see in the darkness, although he kept Aaron in his line of sight. Just in case the little shit was leading him into some kind of trap. Snake kept his hand on his holster, making sure he was capable of making a quick draw if necessary. A handgun would do in a pinch, but Snake could feel the slight pressure of steel resting against his ribcage. The automatic machine gun he wore in a body belt was fully loaded with multiple clips hidden in strategic parts of Snake's clothes.

Call him a fucking boy scout.

"Aaron!" A male voice cried out as Snake reached the bottom of the stairs. A sudden crack over his neck took Snake by complete surprise. The pain stunned him for a second as he reeled, but a second was all that he needed to recover. Instinctively, Snake could tell where his attacker was coming from and allowed his reflexes to take hold. Grabbing the man's arm before another blow connected, Snake rammed his elbow into the man's chest and felt bone. He heard a loud crunch as the man buckled over. In the background, he heard a woman's scream.

"Snake no!" He heard Aaron scream as he went for his gun.

He paused long enough to see his attacker on the floor, with the woman running to his side. Aaron was standing in front both of them, trying to use his small body as a shield. Even in the darkness, Snake could see the boy staring at him wide-eyed with terror. "This is my dad Snake!" He turned to the man, who was gasping for air, trying to recover from Snake's blow to his chest. "Dad, this is Snake Plissken, he brought me home!"

The woman glared at him suspiciously. Her face told a story in itself of harsh living, starvation and desperation. It told the story for Aaron's entire family. "You had a gun!" She declared. "We thought you came to take us back." Her voice was a shrill noise, but it was on the verge of cracking as was her composure. She turned back to her husband and helped him to his feet. The man recovered slightly, trying to maintain his dignity as he rose to meet Snake's gaze.

Snake holstered his gun, knowing he wouldn't need it. Staring into the man's eyes, unflinching, it was obvious that Aaron's father was afraid of him. Eying him with both fear and caution, taking particular notice of the holster and his gun. Snake said nothing, allowing the man to speak first.

"I'm sorry," the man apologised, handing Snake a hand in gesture of friendship. "When you came here with a gun. I thought you were going to take us back. I just reacted."

"Its all right," Snake replied, although he didn't return the handshake. "I brought your kid here before I head out."

At the mention of escape, the man's eyes widened with life. "You're leaving the Zone?" He exclaimed.

"Yeah," Snake replied, knowing immediately where this was going. He supposed he didn't have to take them, but it was a big boat and he needed some answers as well. "Talk to me about Sanctuary and may be we can make a deal."

*********

It was too dangerous for them to move at night.

At night, the Englishman had imposed a curfew that was enforced by his soldiers who drove around in their cars armed with guns, ready to shoot. This was mainly to keep better control of the masses, so they would be easily retrievable if required. This part of town was reserved for the untouchables the Englishman could not use for his workforce. They were mostly old people, orphan children, the retarded and disabled or anyone that could not be put to work in the camps.

Jonah Stone and his family were resident of Vancouver Island all their lives. Before the Pulse, he had been an electrical engineer by trade and it was this expertise that had become such a liability now. The Englishman maintained a tight control over the skilled professional and artisans by abducting their families and forcing them to work for the family's future safety. It was a situation Jonah was not about to submit to.

Sanctuary was in actuality, Della City.

Della City was a smaller city than Victoria, or the Zone as it was now known. It had managed to recover from the Pulse faster than the capital. Despite the ensuing carnage of paranoia and savagery that overtook most of the cities, someone rose up to take control of the situation. Not only consolidating the remaining law enforcement in the area but brining some semblance of order back to the city. Jonah did not know specific details about what took place in Della City, his information coming mostly from third hand reports and rumours. Such rumours told of how Della City still had power. Beefer the Pulse, Della's main source of power had come from the large hydro-electrical plant located at Della Falls. Sanctuary had used its engineers and skilled tradesmen to activate the plant again. Before the Zone was born, numerous people had fled from Victoria to Della as the violence grew.

In Victoria, there was no smooth transition. As utilities and the law broke down, the anarchy gave rise to vicious street gangs who were running rampant killing anyone who wouldn't wear their gang colours. Local law enforcement was unable to stem the rising tide until some had either chosen to join or were killed in the onslaught. The head of anyone wearing a badge soon became trophies for the gangs. People fled into the hill sand remained there, fearful of dying in the crossfire.

When Ebola Zaire came to Vancouver Island, so did a new kind of death.

Since there was little global communication, most of the cities and town that were struck by Ebola had no idea of what it was at first. Ebola's symptoms were disturbingly similar to influenza, disarming people from the notion that they were carrying a lethal virus. However, once the first case made its appearance, the death toll began to soar with frightening speed. People from the mainland flocking to the city in search of food and loved ones lost after the Pulse, brought Ebola to Vancouver Island. With little organisation and no central power in the city, the disease was left to run unchecked through the streets. Soon gang members were executing anyone showing symptoms of the virus, not realising that these could range from haemorrhaging to a slight cold. Before long, the gangs were killing just about anyone they damn well felt like it.

The disease ran its course after several months with the death of its last victim.

Slowly, shocked survivors began to pick up the pieces. The Skulls, one of the smaller gangs had elected itself a voracious new leader whose name was unknown and liked to be called simply as the Englishman. Under his leadership, the Skulls rose to power and took control of the city. His success centring mainly on the notion that he had a plan and was absolutely ruthless in his implementation of it. Despite his brutal and savage methods, his strategy was flawless and his armed thugs herded people together and started restoring a new kind of order.

It was unknown what effects the virus had on Della City.

Six months before, the Englishman had finally decided that Sanctuary as most of the people were tried to escape there called it, was a threat to his power. As long as it existed, it was a beacon of hope for everyone the Englishman wanted to subjugate. Shortly after another large batch of people had made a successful escape to Sanctuary, the Englishman led the first raid towards Della in an attempt to capture its leaders and its prosperity.

He was not successful and was forced back to the Zone in a humiliating defeat. It seemed Sanctuary knew how to protect itself as well.

The Englishman didn't give up so easily, sending Skulls into the opposing territories on several occasions, always trying to win some foothold. The last incursion saw the total annihilation of the invading force, except for one survivor, who was kept alive specifically to bring the Englishman a statement of demand.

Under the treaty the Englishman was forced to sign, both cities mapped out their territorial boundaries, with the negotiations taking place at a neutral site. Sanctuary refused outright to prohibit people from entering their territories but would do nothing to encourage them either. Its leaders stipulated that violation of the treaty would be nothing short of an act of war and Sanctuary would retaliate in kind. As much as the Englishman wanted Sanctuary, he had to concede his bands of thugs and street gangs were no match for the well-organised group that defended Sanctuary.

For now, it was a fragile peace.

II

Even though Snake was uncomfortable at travelling by day, Jonah assured him it would be simpler than trying to move around at night. With the curfew imposed by the Skulls, they would be noticed immediately if they were seen outside. Snake however, was doubtful of this notion and despite his better judgement, agreed with Jonah's recommendation, seeing the man knew this place better than he did. He didn't know why he was still with the Stone family. While the information provided by Jonah was interesting regarding the politics of Vancouver Island, it was hardly necessary for Snake to make his escape. If anything, the presence of family would only serve to slow him down.

Yet despite all his reservations, he found himself leaving the building the next day, stepping out into daylight. By day, the street was no less redeeming than it was at night, except one could only see it better and the added clarity only added to Snake's displeasure. They emerged unto the sidewalk and Snake was glad to see the bike still where he left it at least. Even though Jonah had assured him that the family had their own transport to Snake's boat. He didn't like the idea of relying to much on this man to get him out of a tight spot. Whatever Jonah Stone might have been in a previous life, to Snake Plissken he was just an amateur.

"I managed to get this thing going." Jonah declared proudly as he led Snake to an alley beside the building. "It's not much, but will get us to your boat." An old Dodge truck was hiding behind a dumpster, occupied by a drunken old lady snoring away with a bottle of booze clutched in her frozen hands. The tarnished red vehicle looked like something out of an old farm yard and barely fit to travel. Snake kept that observation himself even though he was dubious about Jonah's ability to get it moving.

"Follow me then." Snake replied coolly, deciding that it was way past time that they were leaving. He walked out of the alley, towards his bike. Glancing back over his shoulder long enough to see Jonah bundling his family into the vehicle.

The engine of the bike roared to life as Snake brought his foot down on the starter, its healthy rumble echoing through the quiet street. A few people stuck their heads out of windows to see what the noise was about, but chose to retreat once they took a good look and Snake and specifically the guns he was carrying. Behind him, the old Dodge clankered to life at the same time, puffing out a steady stream of dark smoke from the exhaust and from under the hood. Its engine was decidedly healthy and sounded like an old man having an emphysema attack after smoking the cigarette he wasn't supposed to have.

Smoke shook his head in disgust, once again rebuking himself for becoming embroiled in this whole sorry mess in the first place. This was none of his concern and he was placing himself in unnecessary risk by taking on the responsibility of Jonah and his family. However, knowing it did nothing to change things and the sooner he got back to the coast the better.

They had started to move off, when Snake noticed it.

It was something he hadn't realised before because of his preoccupation with his current dilemma. The old men who were huddled around the garbage stove were gone, so were the children and all other signs of life. This place was lively at last night and Snake found it odd that would be so deserted by day, especially since there was no curfew. People were staying indoors for a reason. He could see people staring out their windows, their faces frightened. At first Snake thought it was him, but suddenly it occurred to him that something else was doing it.

"Shit." He cursed softly, realising the grievous mistake.

Almost on cute, before he and Jonah had reached the other end of the street, cars that had been likely waiting for them all morning, screeched out of nowhere, barricading all possible exits.

Safe, sure." Fucking amateur, Snake thought to himself as he saw at least four cars, two were jeeps and two were sedans. Those who occupied the cars were a motley lot, distinguishable by the weapons they carried and the skull insignia on their clothes. Snake's eyes scanned the area and found more cause for annoyance. It was a typical city block flanked on both sides with buildings, with few alleys in between and perfect ambush territory.

"Get off the bike!" The only woman in the group, shouted from the lead car. She was a sultry beauty, clad in leather, with dark mahogany hair and deep blue eyes. Eyes that were icy cold and harder than any killers. The supreme confidence in her face indicated that she expected Snake to give up without a fight, since they had boxed him in.

Snake held his ground, undecided on whether he should abandon the bike and make a run for it, even though the odds were against him. Even with his automatic, he counted at least twelve of them and not even if he did get most of their number, he wouldn't get them all. Finally, he realised that he didn't have much of a choice even if it was a big mistake.

Meanwhile, Jonah Stone in the Dodge was watching with rising fear as some of the men in one car started approaching his truck. Panic more than anything forced him to act. Slamming his foot on the accelerator, the Dodge leapt forward lethargically, barrelling head on into the two men ahead. A short scream from one was followed by both rolling over the windscreen and disappearing in a blur In the rear view mirror, Jonah saw their bodies hit the ground hard. His wife had started screaming as his son huddle closer to him from fright.

Snake looked up to see Jonah's truck on the move, as did everyone else. Taking advantage of the situation, he went for his gun. Suddenly he heard the loud crack of a gunshot somewhere in the distance and felt an exquisite burst of pain in his chest. He glanced down in time to see blood and flesh erupt from his chest, before the force of it sent him to his knees. Everything suddenly moved faster after that. He could feel the searing pain, feel the grinding of teeth as he tried to bear it. He tried to keep himself from falling, but no amount of will could have kept him upright. Unconsciously, he knew the shout came from behind. These assholes were smarter than he had given them credit for. They had staked out the street and position snipers on the roofs just in case Snake had tried to make a run for it.

Weapons fire had broken out in the confusion, mostly directed as Jonah's truck. Lifting his head, Snake saw Jonah's truck slamming into another vehicle hard, sending it clear across the road, before it came to a halt at the base of a building. Snake took a deep breath, trying to force himself to his feet, but the strength wouldn't come to him. His pain was vivid and, even though it was now thready and ragged in its expression.

The Skulls were firing at the passenger cabin of the truck, bullets shattering the already damaged windscreen. There was a flash of clarity where Snake saw Jonah take one in the head, blood and brain matter erupting on the windscreen and windows. The man slumped forward, his head still pooling blood as it rolled down the glass. Snake winced slightly seeing that. Jonah was a good man, even if he had been an asshole. The pick up slowed to a halt a few meters later and the Skulls descended on it like a pack of wolves.

Through the haze of pain, he saw Aaron and his mother forced from the car and cursed that he was no help to them, or himself for that matter. The woman was harder to coerce, since she was sobbing hysterically at her husband's dead body. Snake caught sight of Aaron's vacant look. He saw the blood and flesh on the boy's clothes and knew with uncharacteristic sadness that he had seen that expression a long time ago, on another son's face.

"Get the to processing, Jimenez." A voice spoke near him. It belonged to the woman who had spoken before. "The boss wants to talk to this one."

"Sure thing, Miranda." Another voice responded.

Snake could barely move, but he knew he had to. It was almost impossible. He knew he was bleeding to death, he could see his own blood pooling before him, could taste it against his lips. Snake knew he had taken a chest wound and any unnecessary movement could kill him. However, he could not remain here either. His thoughts came to a sudden halt when he felt hands around his arms, pulling him to his feet. Movement was agony, but they forced him upright.

"That damn Jones," the woman called Miranda cursed slightly, examining the wound on his chest. "He was only supposed to wing you Mr Plissken."

Snake didn't answer, glaring into her beautiful face with whatever defiance he could muster.

"We'll I don't suppose it matters anyway." She sighed turning away from him. "As long as you're alive when the boss decides to kill you."

CHAPTER FOUR

I

Four...five...

Still alive.

Just barely though, just barely.

Snake didn't notice much during the trip through the Zone, towards the Englishman's central den, except that it was a bumpy ride and he felt each jolt with sliver of pain in his chest. The woman Miranda had wrapped a makeshift bandage around his chest to stem the flow of blood. To some extent it worked, but mostly it was trying to cork a dam with a needle. Snake still felt gushes of blood each time he took a deep breath and it was becoming considerably harder to breathe. Despite his attempt to maintain a cool demeanour, Snake knew he had to get to a doctor fast, or he wouldn't survive the day, let alone the next few hours. Even though death had become a way of life with him, he wasn't eager to meet it after surviving New York and Los Angeles. Besides, he hated to think he'd go without taking some of these bastards with him.

"So this is Snake Plissken huh?" Snake heard the man next to him say.

"The one and only." Miranda answered from the other side.

"He doesn't look so tough." He retorted derisively.

Snaked reacted to that remark by going for the man's throat, despite the pain. Deciding the pain was worth the effort of wiping that smug of the assholes' face. Lashing out, Snake had his hands around the man's throat, applying enough pressure to make him cry out.

"Tough enough for you, asshole." Snake retorted, speaking through a strained voice. The man was more of a kid really, loud mouth and too cocky for his own good. His frightened eyes showed Snake just how much he was suitably humbled even though he tried to be defiant. His pale skin had broken into a sweat and Snake's reputation showed in his terrified eyes.

The sudden click sounding behind his ear, was a sound Snake was very familiar with. The cool metal nudged him back and Snake glanced over long enough to see Miranda holding his own gun to his head. Letting go of the man, Snake fell down heavily into the seat, fresh pain coursing through him causing him to wince slightly. He probably shouldn't have exerted himself as much and expected to be stopped from doing any real harm. Still it was worth it.

"You fuck!" The boy snapped with renewed confidence, posturing himself now that he had recovered. He held his gun to Snake's throat, cursing furiously.

"Calm down kid." Miranda instructed giving Snake a sarcastic look. "Mr Plissken was just making a point."

"Yeah right," Kid responded, giving Snake's chest a calculated look. "He's going to be dead soon any way."

As much as Snake hated to admit it, he tended to agree with that estimation. The convertible finally arrived at its destination, coming to a halt at the kerb in front of Victoria City's council hall. It was big ostentatious building, with doomed ceilings, Corinthian columns, statues and stained glass windows, all defaced and gratified. It was just the kind of place a would be dictator would choose as his base of operations. Looking at the place, told Snake Plissken a lot about the Englishman.

They dragged him out of the car and forced him up the large steps. Miranda walked ahead as always. From her manner, Snake guessed she was one of the Englishman higher ranking lieutenants. As they continued up the steps, Snake saw all the statues had been damaged. Specifically, the heads had been decapitated and smashed to hide who it was really in commemoration to. In garish letters spray painted across the large and once polished, oak doors that was the entrance to the building, were the words 'End Zone'.

It was so typical Snake thought. All these warlord types with their delusions of grandeur and misinformed notions of their own importance. They almost always tried to make people forget that in the real world, they were common scum who used to give local law enforcement a good laugh now and then. The Englishman was shaping up to be no different. Like the Duke and Cuervo Jones before him, they always cited some higher cause, like freedom or rights deserved to all men, yet they used guns to subjugate the weak.

The Englishman would not doubt say he was bringing order to the city. Snake could almost hear it now. That killing Jonah Stone and others like him was a necessary evil. Snake didn't know Stone or even cared that much about him for that matter, but Snake remembered Aaron's face most vividly as he was led away, covered in his father's blood and brains. Snake had seen his eyes. He knew that kind of anger almost intimately. He knew how it felt to see everything that ever mattered, just disappear and always because of someone else's' fucking cause.

I'm sorry about your parents Mr Plissken, these things just happen.

He realised he was drifting in an out of consciousness, because places were coming and going in flashes. One moment, he thought he was staring at Taylor, young and naive looking like the day they'd met at boot camp. Not like later, after the ear and bullets had torn him a part. He didn't remember Taylor ever wearing glasses though. Another moment later, he was passing by more thugs, more guns, books and statues, carpets and hallways rushed past him, dimly lit by lanterns. Women were walking around, following men like lap dogs, dressed in skin tight outfits, leaving nothing to the imagination. The perceptions swirling around his head were becoming more difficult to ascertain.

The words `brain asphyxia' was starting to repeat itself in his mind.

Suddenly, it all came to a stop, with him hitting the floor with a new place. The room stopped spinning, there was sunlight bearing down on him. Snake started to recover a little, the sudden stop adjusting his equilibrium somewhat. Although not by much. He was dying slowly and he knew it. They'd taken his weapons away so he couldn't even hasten the process even if he wanted to. Snake felt carpet against his cheek and a silence that seemed enforced in comparison to the cacophony outside.

Snake rose to his feet slowly, determined that he would not meet his end on his knees. Each movement was pain. Standing up helped a little, allowing the conundrum of visual images and sounds to find some focus. For the first time, Snake got a better look at his surroundings. He was in a large room, with a glass roof that allowed the sunlight to illuminate the pews that were laid out in a semi-circle around a wooden pedestal and lowered floor. There were only a few people present. One of them was Miranda and the other was the Kid. There were others at the multiple entrances of the room but these were armed sentries.

A man emerged from out of the light and he stood matching Snake's height, his ash coloured hair tied neatly with a strip of leather cord. His face was hard, almost feral in its intensity, with high cheekbones and harder eyes and lips that hid perfect teeth. In those green eyes, Snake saw a killer. The kind of killer he'd faced in a thousand situations like this. Someone who'd spent most of his life being a killer and perfecting it to an art.

Wearing a loose flowing shirt, dark pants and high riding boots, he almost looked like something out of a movie set. He walked to Miranda, took hold of her fiercely and pressed his lips against hers hard. Her nails dug into his back and from her reaction, Snake realised that theirs was more than just a professional gang relationship. Miranda was the Englishman's main squeeze.

"I knew I could count on you my dear." The Englishman spoke, his voice was like grating glass before turning to him. "Snake Plissken in the flesh."

"Not much of it unfortunately," Miranda remarked eying Snake disparagingly. "Jones did more than wing him."

The Englishman walked up to him and studied the wound that was slowly killing him with nothing more than a passing interest. "That's alright," he answered Miranda. "I just need him for a few minutes."

"Get on with it." Snake finally spoke, growing impatient with all this posturing and Christs knows what else this little god had in mind for him.

The Englishman rose a brow at Snake's sudden remark. His face curled up into a smile that was anything but friendly. "Your reputation precedes you Mr Plissken, I'm kind of surprised that you're still alive. Rumour had it that you were dead."

"So I heard."

"Since you're not dead and you're on my island. I take it you had a reason for making the trip here from main land. What may I inquire that is?"

"He was helping some civvy take off with his family," Kid offered. "Probably heading for Sanctuary."

At the mention of Sanctuary, the Englishman's features darkened for a second before the expression of calm returned again. He looked at Snake with surprise, even though Snake didn't miss the look on his face. "You must be mistaken," he said sarcastically. "This here is the man who brought us the Pulse. He is not a man known for his good deeds, even though I must admit, I should thank you for making us gods with a new kingdom. Still there was that famous rescue wasn't there? I some how doubt Snake Plissken would be finding haven with a bunch of peace loving fuckers I intend to shortly despatch. I find that most difficult to believe."

Snake heard the laughter all around.

It was becoming harder to concentrate so Snake knew he was getting worse. He heard footsteps walking around him, moving towards Miranda's direction and Snake ran his hand over his face, trying to focus himself. He tried to run around to see where the Englishman had gone, when suddenly he heard the man's voice in front of him.

"I have plans for Sanctuary Snake," he said casually. "In less than a month, it will become a part of the Zone and I'll have that bitch who runs it. When I bring her people to their goddamn knees in chains, she'll hear their screaming from my bedroom when I'm fucking her!"

Snake almost smiled. Almost, but he had something better in mind.

"So you're telling me you got your ass kicked by a woman."

The bullet slammed into his side even before he had a chance to finish speaking. Hot pain flared from ruined flesh as the bullet tore through his muscle above his hip. The force of it threw him backwards and Snake hit the floor hard. This time, he didn't have the strength left to get up. Even though he was still conscious, Snake was aware that this was probably it. He was going to die.

Shit.

"Get rid of this trash." He heard the Englishman say, as he stood over Snake with Miranda's gun in his hand. "He's staining my floor."

II

There was a loud splash and a sensation of falling.

Water swirled all around him. It entered his mouth, stung at his wounds and even seeped through the protective eye patch to reach his useless eye. Snake didn't know where he was for a moment, knowing only that he was just thrown into a body of water. The icy cold water shocked him into coherence, because he remembered little after being shot the second time.

Seeing the direction of the bubbles prompted Snake to follow them and thankfully, the air escaping from his nose and mouth gave him the added buoyancy he needed to break the surface. He could see nothing except the bubbles because the water was not only murky but also dark. He needed only to rise a few meters before he found himself breaking the surface. Taking greedy gulps of air, he kicked to stay afloat and knew he couldn't do that for long. His chest and side were numbed by the cold water, which was probably the only consolation in this whole miserable situation.

He was at the junction of some kind of underground sewer. Small pin pricks of light indicated the manhole cover in the ceiling above, where he had been thrown in. The smell hit him almost as severely as the cold. Snake could smell foul water, waste and other things he didn't care to name. He saw a ledge in the distance, probably and access way for maintenance staff. Though covered in slime and other refuse, Snake could make out the thin line of an edge in the darkness.

Slowly, he swam towards it, moving his arms as carefully as possible so that he would not agitate his wounds any further. He was exhausted and movement was difficult. His weapons were gone and he had no idea where he was. That he wasn't dead yet surprised Snake more than anything else. Despite all this, he was as mad as hell and wanted revenge so badly that he was willing to survive just to kill that son of a bitch, the Englishman.

Reaching the ledge, he let his weigh rest on the concrete surface, pushing the garbage out of his face. He coughed up blood and spat the awful metallic tasting bile from his mouth. He knew he was starting to slip into a bad way because he could no longer feel anything but overwhelming numbness. He had lost a great deal of blood and was fighting the urge to lapse into sleep. He didn't know much about medicine but he knew that was dangerous. With the cold and the loss of blood, he was probably slipping into shock.

What a place to die.

All of a sudden, Snake heard the shrill squealing of vermin, followed by soft scampering sounds. He raised his heavy head and tried to see from which direction the sound had come. It was difficult to see. Each junction looked like the other and the sound had been soft. Snake's survival training had allowed him to pick it up where it would have been largely ignored by anyone else. However, in this state, he was not much good for anything else.

The squeal disappeared into the darkness but was soon followed by footsteps walking against the concrete floor. Snake could make out sounds of garbage being crushed underfoot as the person made his approach. Snake wondered what new threat this was, because he was certainly in no shape to deal with it.

Still he had to try.

Mustering every ounce of reserve strength he had left, Snake Plissken dragged himself out of the water. His wet clothes added extra weight and it was an effort just to slid his bulk over the concrete ledge. Fortunately, his flame retardant clothes did not absorb much water which was some consolation. Allowing his black coat to slide off, relieved much of the weight on Snake's body. The cold however was considerable and it started biting into his skin immediately.

Using the nearby wall as support, Snake moved into the shadows, listening with concentration. The footsteps were coming from the junction opposite him. Chances were, the stranger had not seen him climb out of the water. Moving awkwardly into position, Snake stood at the corner of the wall and waited.

The footsteps were definitely coming straight for him and their pace indicated the person was under some urgency to reach him. Snake had no idea whether this person was a threat or not, but under his present circumstances he was a mad as hell and it didn't mean shit to him any more.

Holding the breath tight and moving into that frame of mind that made him unbeatable at times, Snake Plissken waited fro the quarry to approach. The person walked straight past him, allowing Snake a large enough window of opportunity to strike. The stranger paused at the edge, looking into the junction and was beginning to turn when he felt Snake's arm tightening around his throat in one fast jerk.

"Come to finish me off?" Snake demanded, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. He fumbled in the man's clothes and found a gun which he took. "What's the matter? Your boss shaky about his shot?"

"No!" The man managed to gasp. "I came here to help you!"

Snake released him, shoving him forward as he levelled the gun and took aim. The stranger stopped himself from falling into the water. He was wearing an old green army jacket and jeans, Snake observed as he turned around with his hands raised in the air, pleading surrender.

As he turned, Snake saw that he was a young man in his early twenties. With the little light there was in the room, Snake was able to make his features out. Sandy blond hair, fine chiselled features and blue eyes which looked innocent and naive. For a minute Snake simply stared because this kid looked familiar. Snake searched his memory for a match and suddenly it was there in front of him.

"Taylor?"

No, it was impossible.

Taylor was dead. Snake Plissken had seen him die about seventeen years ago. They had tried to rob the Federal Repository. Everything had come and gone smoothly, he and Taylor escaped with the loot and made it as far as San Francisco before they were tracked down. It was that crime which had him sentenced to life imprisonment at the New York State Penitentiary. The crime where he had seen them cut his best friend in half in front of him. He still remembered the look on Taylor's face as the bullets riddled h is body, when he realised the dying to come. Snake had frozen at that moment, unable to say anything, unable to do anything. Not even caring when the cops came and took him away. All he saw was that rising puddle of crimson.

This couldn't be Taylor. Taylor was dead and this man was years younger and he wore glasses. Snake and Taylor were the same age but the resemblance between this boy and his best friend was eerie. Could it be his eyes? He'd lost a lot of blood, could he be seeing things?

"No, Snake, " the young man spoke. He even sounded like Taylor. "It's me Tim, remember? We met when you came home with my brother once."

Tim.

Yes, Snake did remember. Taylor had a kid brother. A little runt of a thing that spent most of the time buried in his books. "Timothy?" Snake managed to whisper, recalling what Taylor's mother had called the kid.

"Yeah," He smiled pleased that Snake remembered him, even after all this years. "That's me."

Snake leaned back against the wall, letting it support his weight because he could barely stand. The gun remained pointed though. It had been a long time since those days and even if Snake did know him, he wasn't about to trust him yet.

Taylor looked at him with concern, estimating just how badly Snake had been wounded and realising with far more clarity than Snake gave him credit, that if those wounds were not tended to quickly, we would die. "Snake," he explained, "when I saw them bringing you through the End Zone, I knew they were going to kill you. I waited until after I heard the Englishman shoot and then followed Miranda close enough to see where they dumped you. I came as soon as it was clear."

It felt like he was telling the truth, Snake thought, mainly because the Taylor he knew was never any good about lying over anything to him. Still this was not Taylor, even though the family resemblance was very strong. However, he had to face the reality of his situation, he did not have a choice to be overly selective of whose help he took. He either trusted Tim now or he'd die where he was standing, far sooner than if the kid pulled the trigger himself.

"If this is a set up, Taylor's brother or not, I'll kill you." Snake warned, holstering the weapon at last.

Tim let out a sigh. "Same old Snake," he smiled coming towards him. "Trusting soul aren't you?"

"I've been hurt before." Snake remarked as Taylor took his arm and slung it around his own shoulder for support.

"I'll be fine on my own." Snake said uncomfortably as they started walking up the way Taylor had come.

"Snake, you've been hurt bad. Trust me, I do have a plan for getting out here."

"That'll be a first since I got here." Snake retorted, deciding after a moment that he was to weak to argue further. Besides, despite his reluctance to admit it, using Taylor's support did make walking a great deal easier. "Where are we going?"

"To Sanctuary Snake," the young man replied. "To Sanctuary."