Free Hooded Man by Paul Kane

that.
    And without his pro-action he would never have met Gwen, who, over the course of time they’d known each other, had become extremely important to him. In the days before the virus, Clive doubted that a woman as good looking and kind – and, let’s face it, pretty much perfect – as Gwen would have even looked his way, although she always told him he was wrong. Now, in this bubble, this experiment – a micro community really – he was rapidly becoming her whole world. They’d already ‘adopted’ a couple of the little ones they’d found on their searches, some no more than five or six, alone and scrabbling about for food or water. But one day, Clive realised, there would come a time when he and Gwen might start a family of their own. They’d even talked about asking Tate to marry them. They weren’t the only ones, either. Folk of all ages, were pairing up, whether it was for companionship, or love, or a human instinct to carry on the species.
    Which was why he was out here today, working on turning the tiny village hall into an even tinier school. He was fixing up the place with the help of young Darryl Wade. The lad was barely into his twenties, but had been trained well by his handyman father before he’d died – in the hopes Darryl would take over the family business one day. It was this kind of passing down of skills Clive sought to encourage. The world no longer needed IT experts, estate agents or insurance brokers.
    Outside in the sunshine, Clive was sanding down the first set of desk tops. He’d been working hard all morning and was looking forward to the communal dinner they would have outside the local pub, with freshly baked bread (that was one of Gwen’s talents) and fresh meat picked up just recently from one of the markets: lamb today, if he wasn’t very much mistaken. And as he placed the glasses back on his head, bringing a figure walking towards him into focus, Clive smiled a greeting at Gwen. All things considered, life was good in Hope, and much better than the alternative.
    “Hello you,” said Gwen, carrying a tray of blackcurrant juice across from the house they’d picked out together. She looked over at the desks, then at the work he and Darryl had done on the door to the hall. Gwen nodded, suitably impressed. “Been working hard, I see.”
    She placed the tray down and Clive gave her a kiss. She was wearing a flowery summer dress, even though they were barely into the spring, her auburn hair loose, flowing over her shoulders, and Clive thought that he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He slipped a hand around her waist and she placed an arm over his shoulder. They both looked at the hall, knowing that in years to come it would probably become the true embodiment of Hope.
    “Who’s looking after Sally and Luke?” Sally was their little girl’s real name, Luke was the one they’d given their boy when they found the poor mite.
    “June’s got them; they’re happy enough playing out in the garden. Where’s Darryl?”
    “Inside; he’s taking a look at the rafters. Apparently there was quite a bit of rot up in the roof. That’s something else which’ll need sorting out.”
    “There’s time,” Gwen told him.
    “There is,” he agreed, kissing her again. “For all kinds of things. Gwen, I –” There was a noise in the distance that made him pause. “Do you hear that?”
    Gwen cocked an ear. “Sounds like an engine.”
    Clive listened again. “Sounds like lots of engines.”
    “Might just be someone passing by up on the main road,” she offered, but her expression told him she was worried. They never had visitors to Hope – not even from the other communities they’d made contact with – and that was the way they preferred it.
    The noise was drawing closer.
    “Does... does that sound like a motorbike to you?” asked Gwen.
    Clive took her hand and ran down the street, rounding the corner. The people of Hope had come out of their houses to see