The world had ended so quickly that nobody had been able to do anything about it. So few human beings remained and those that did barely remembered their life before the end. Diandra Donovan remembered. But then, Diandra had been one of the most famous models in the world and she clung to that with barely restrained panic. Diandra wandered the almost frozen streets of London in her tattered cocktail dress, a magazine with her photo on the front was clutched in her hands.

Diandra hurried into a deserted hotel and tutted when the elevator didn't answer her call. The fact that there had been no electricity for at least six months didn't seem to penetrate the fog in her mind. Diandra looked around the rubble strewn entry for someone to take her imaginary bags but, seeing nobody, she hurried up the stairs to the top floor and the penthouse suite. Sighing with relief, she pushed open the door and stopped. Sitting on the carpet was a man.

He was muscular with a shaved head, dressed all in black and was cooking what looked like a couple of sausages over a little gas cooker. He smiled and held out a sausage towards her. Diandra smiled and took the offered food, dropping down onto the carpet opposite him.

"I'm famous you know" she said. The man looked up as she handed him the magazine with her photo on the front. He swallowed his food and handed it back before pulling a folded up newspaper from his pocket.

"So am I" he said. Diandra took the paper and frowned at the headline.


Diandra looked up at his grinning face and, as he advanced towards her, she suddenly found herself wondering what she had just eaten.