Dead England — George Watson

It was a lovely day. A perfect day in fact!Shame there weren’t many people about to enjoy it...We were six Army Reserve soldiers in a dying army in a dying land. We lounged in a sumptuous room on the top floor of the Hasting House Hotel that in normal times none of us could have afforded, let alone been allowed to enter. We had a large suite with a sunny living room that sported an enormous floor to ceiling window almost the width of the room that overlooked a long golden beach. In times past the sand would have thronged with people, now groups of seagulls basked beneath the sun, knowing they would never again be disturbed by an Englishman.The truth was that there was no other sign of life anywhere in the entire town, or the next one over for that matter or the one after that. French ships, naval and civilian could be seen in the near distance; they were morbidly curious but would not dare come near.On the promenade a small pack of domestic dogs that had gone feral was busy tearing at something suspiciously human-looking, taking bite-sized chunks....