Starvation and disaster had long devastated the world. No catastrophe had ever been so thorough, or so final. Slow and stealthy, like a stalking lion, it had crept up on the human race, hidden in the long grass of denial, tensing muscles of complacency, before finally pouncing to tear its prey apart with the teeth of climate change. There were floods, and sudden droughts, and then drastic food shortages, with resulting war. Famine and plague spread their long shadows over the land, ushering in the demise of civilisation as governments, corporations and financial markets alike fell apart under the sheer weight of suffering humanity. And the whole collapse, from the first unseasonal storms to the wholesale flooding of coastal regions, were the incidents of half a decade.
Edgar thought it was all fucking hilarious. Oh they'd been so earnest—the yummy mummies with their Tarquins and Jemimas; the bearded bores reciting by rote scientific papers they didn't really understand; the wannabe student anarchists filling in time before they took up their high paid jobs in the city.
"Save the Planet!" they all cried, before fucking off to the Alps for their skiing holidays same as always.
Save the planet. What a laugh. All that handwringing and what they really meant was save our flatscreen TVs, Chelsea tractors and supermarkets filled with row after row of shrink-wrapped shit. The planet was big enough to look after itself. But the ordinary man, well he was completely fucked. Famine, plague and war; the planet knew exactly how to deal with an infestation of human beings.
Fuck the ordinary man. Who gave a toss about those ants anyway.
Edgar was watching them right now. He sat back in a soft leather armchair and watched their pitiful struggles on a television screen almost as big as the wall while a Colombian beauty sucked his cock. All the TV stations had long since ceased transmission, but a pair of enterprising media barons had found ways to generate some entertainment. Currently they were flying over the drowned ruins of London in a helicopter. The sound of the rotors brought out survivors like worms in a downpour. The helicopter came close enough for the camera to pick out the filthy remnants of their shellsuits and Burberry shirts, close enough to zoom in on their gap-toothed smiles of relief.
Close enough to show a face burst like a ripe tomato as a high velocity bullet smashed through it.
It was the expressions of the other worms that always cracked Edgar up. It was fucking funny to see them go from relief to confusion and then finally terror. Even then they reacted with bovine slowness, as if they couldn't let go of the hope, even though the blood and teeth splattered on their faces told them the helicopter brought nothing but death.
A second bullet went through the back of a man's head as he turned to run with the speed of a slow motion action scene. The third bullet went right through the ass of the last man and left him shivering and puking in a spreading puddle of his own blood and faeces.
"Now that's what I call a crack shot!" the pilot joked as he took the helicopter back up into the sky in search of other prey.
Crack shot. Fucking brilliant.
Edgar sucked in a breath as he felt Francesca DeVasquez do that special thing she did with her teeth. Her head bobbed up and down in his lap as she noisily sucked his dick. Lips like silk cushions and a mouth like a vacuum cleaner, DeVasquez gave fucking awesome head.
"That's it, baby," he sighed.
He felt a familiar stirring in his balls and grabbed the back of DeVasquez's head, his fingers brushing through her silky black hair. He held her in place and thrust his hips against her, smiling at the gagging sounds she made as he forced her to deepthroat him.
"Fuck yeah," he groaned as the orgasm washed over him and he sprayed his hot cum down her gullet.
DeVasquez was a good girl, well trained. She swallowed every last drop.
"Now go fetch me a cold beer, luv," Edgar said. He admired the tanned brown swell of her ass as she walked out of the room.
All that so-called rational debate between the scientists and politicians was so much hot air. There was only ever going to be one winner, and that was money. Money won everything.
Edgar was filthy stinking rich. While the sheep had either stuck their heads in the sand or bleated about how sacrifices needed to be made without making any themselves, Edgar had made his own plans. Like all the other filthy stinking rich people he'd invested in a nice little pad somewhere high and dry with a big fucking fence, its own private army and enough supplies to see out half a century. And guns. Lots and lots of guns.
End of the world? Not for Edgar Price, baby!
DeVasquez returned with a can of beer. Edgar popped the tab, took a sip and then hurled the drink at DeVasquez in disgust.
"I said a
cold
beer, bitch!" he yelled at her. Stupid puta.
She ducked out of the way, but Edgar caught a brief flash of sullen anger in her eyes. Bitch was getting a little above herself, Edgar thought. Maybe it was time he passed her down to the troops and upgraded to some fresh meat. Shame, she gave fucking awesome head.
Edgar tapped some buttons on the console next to the sofa and the television screen was filled with the face of an elderly Chinese man.
"Oi, Lun Po. Where're my girls?" he said to the screen.
"They are in transit, Mr Price." The Chinaman's voice was as unctuous as ever. "They will arrive at your compound shortly before six this evening."
Good, that left plenty of time before the guests started to arrive.
"And you've sent me the best?" Edgar asked. "No old bangers."
"Mr Price, would I do such a thing?" Po said, putting on an expression of mock outrage. "These are the finest blooms of my latest crop. Each has been sculpted by my surgeons into a walking work of art and trained to attend faithfully to your guests' every wish and desire."
"Lovely jubbly," Edgar said, rubbing his hands together. As good as DeVasquez was, he was looking forward to getting his hands on some fresh, nubile flesh. Tonight was going to be immense.
Po was as good as his word. The girls arrived just before six o'clock. They stood, completely naked, in Edgar's entrance hall, the group flanked on either side by guards armed with Kalashnikov rifles. Very tasty, Edgar thought as he checked out the curves of their hips and breasts. The wily old Chinaman certainly had a keen eye when it came to picking out the talent.
The girls' reactions when they first arrived at the house always interested Edgar. You could tell a lot about a girl in those first moments.
There were the shy types. They were easy to spot. They tried to cover up their nakedness and stared straight at the floor.
