The Chosen Few
The underground shelters all across Britain and the world beyond had become tombs for those chosen to survive. Charles Burbridge was sat upright at his desk in the operations room. His head tilted backwards, his face and hands covered in a fine coating of ice crystals. A small dark round hole in his temple showed through the white death mask. The pistol, still gripped in his icy hand lay across the desk.
Henry Robertson, the last Prime Minister of Britain, lay on the bed in the Ministerial Suite, his arms protectively encompassing his wife and two young sons, his last act of compassion before the poison took effect. His features frozen into a contented smile.
In the underground shelter at Balmoral Castle, in the royal bed chamber. Her Majesty the Queen, dressed in her regal gowns, lay frozen for eternity. A small empty vial lay on the icy cover not far from her outstretched hand.