Aftermath
Preface
It’s 2061 and the world has changed dramatically. 4 years ago, America was levelled by one of its own bombs. The US President is in hiding, as a manhunt rages, formed by those who survived and witnessed the horrid deeds of the once great leader. The survivors live hard, but worse is still to come. People dream of help from across the seas that will come to their rescue, but no one has seen any sign of international life. People are cold, hungry, and scared. No one knows what exactly the future holds. All they can do is take each day as it comes. In the aftermath…
1. Samantha
I sat at the warm, crackling fire and pulled the blanket around me, glad to have one small luxury such as this. I knew this was going to be a cold night. I could feel it in the wind. "Hey Samantha," the person sitting next to said. I responded with a wave. Joane threw a few scraps into the fire and stood up. We all stopped to listen. “We are down to our last few matches,” she explained. “Tomorrow, we will hold another raid and stock up on supplies.”
“We have already cleared this sector!” a voice shouted out from our meagre crowd.
“Then we will expand our search,” Joane replied. We all groaned at the prospect of walking beyond the sector. What we already did was hard enough, especially with the cold biting in to every inch of bare skin. At least we wouldn’t be trudging through snow unlike a few moons back, when we came to sector 8 after a neighbouring group of survivors led us away from a thriving sector with promises of fresh supplies and maybe even a few working facilities. But of course, they lied, so now we know not to trust anyone besides our own. That’s the only way to survive.
I brushed away a loose strand of my plain, brown hair. When I first came across this group of survivors, supplies were more abundant. We managed to collect a selection of hair brushes during one of our raids. I am thankful for that because sometimes, my hair can be the cleanest part of my body when we go through tougher times. I turned around to warm my back, to find Mark or Muck as we call him and Joe discussing one of oldest superstitions of the Dead World as we have come to call this “post-apocalyptic” place: the idea that there are people out there, like secret agents of the Old Life who are running the man hunt and secretly putting back together our world. Everybody knows that those thoughts remain only superstitions and the only thing we can do is dream, and do our best to survive.
I stood up and started walking over to my makeshift bed as my stomach protested at the lack of food. I am use to the food shortages now, but my stomach still loudly protests even when we do manage to get a half decent amount of our rations. I lie down and pull my blanket around me. I closed my eyes. People always say I have pretty hazel eyes. All I see is indifference to every other face that sits among our group. We all contribute to each other’s survival even though we don’t all get along, but Joane manages to keep us together and stop us from repeating the acts of the people of the Old Life. Maybe one day, someone may come to our rescue; maybe we will just have to put back the pieces ourselves. Who knows?
Running. Puffing and panting as I stumble along the path. I hear their shouts and cries behind me. That encourages me to push my last reserves of strength into finding somewhere to hide. I pass the shells of half crumbled buildings, knowing they will not offer me any sanctuary. My heart beats to the rhythm of my every step. My stomach grumbles but I ignore its pleas. This is no time to be worried about food. I clutch my rucksack to my chest; its contents are too valuable to lose. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I had no choice. This really is a matter of life and death. Up ahead, I see a stairwell. Maybe the subway here has some good hiding spots. I adjust my direction and start leaping down the stairs three at a time. The pain hits me like a speeding bus but I keep running. There, a small alcove hidden among the rubble. I dive into the small space, worried if they saw me. I clench my jaw shut as another wave of pain hits me. I try to control my sobs as the danger is still near. I look down at my ankle. Is it supposed to be twisted like that? I hear voices coming my way. I curl into a ball to make myself as small as possible and sink further into the alcove. “Where is that little rat?” one voice shouts.
“Come out you little no good thief!” shouts another. I feel myself shaking in fear. I risk a quick glance outside and quickly draw back as I see a cluster of feet coming this way.
“Split up into three groups and search everywhere!” a more authoritative voice shouts. Tarn was his name. I had heard them call him that.
Tarn was the leader of their group of survivors - A horrid and unforgiving person. He’d steal everything you’ve got and batter you if you asked for a little food. I had seen many people leave them to wander alone because of that. I had been following for a while now. Scavenging from their scraps and picking small items from their supplies. They didn’t know I was there until today. That’s when things went wrong.
I hadn’t seen the slingshots and the home made arrows. I knew they had knives. They used them during an encounter with another group of survivors. “There she is!” A voice excitedly shouted. Spotted! Damn. I blocked out the pain of my ankle and got out of the alcove and ran like hell. They were really close this time. I winced as a speeding rock grazed my face. This may be it. I leapt over a rotting bench and continued running. I didn’t see it until it was too late: A gaping chasm in the concrete. I wildly grabbed at the edge but couldn’t get a grip. Falling. Darkness. Pain.
I woke up drenched in sweat, my heart racing. I shook myself out and got up. It was still dark and the stars glittered above. One thing that I don’t miss about the Old Life is the light pollution. I vaguely remember watching the stars on a camping trip from back when I was little. The memories tug at my emotions. I push them back into the dark corners of my mind. I start walking towards the smouldering remains of the fire. The smoke deters unwanted guests and the dim glow of the coals give off just enough light to see where you’re going. I sat down and let my mind wander.
These small moments of quiet are bliss. It’s good to just let go for a while and lose yourself into your own dreams. Life is harsh and stressful. Everything is just so serious. We barely get any time for fun. There is always the threat of attack or starvation, always something to keep you alert. Even now, somewhere in the shadows, someone will be on guard, prepared to alert us all when danger comes our way. I look up from the smouldering remains of the fire. I see something glowing in the distance. I stand up on the cracked concrete. All of a sudden, I am grateful for the look outs. The glowing light in the distance looks suspicious. I turn around to go and wake someone but decide against it. If trouble comes, we will be woken by someone else. I return to my seat by the ashes.
I hope the source of the glow isn’t another band of survivors. Resources are low enough as it is, we don’t need another group of people lugging around and taking much needed supplies. My mind wanders through memories of harsher times when we were in a more heavily populated area. Food was scarce and prominent bones were a common sight. People were even dirtier than usual and a lot of fights broke out over people collecting sticks and using over people's fire’s to light those sticks and create their own. Theft was a common thing and life was on the edge. One thing that really surprises me though, is the amount of people who have survived the bomb.
When it happened, I expected less people to survive, but over these last years, I have seen possibly hundreds of different survivors. Some of them wander alone, others in family groups, some band together like us. Some are starving, others well fed. Some have a fire every night; others endure the elements through thin rags and makeshift shelters. I don’t know how many others have survived. For all I know, half of America could have been unaffected by the bomb; People living an almost care-free lifestyle, leaving us out here to die. As horrible as it sounds, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were true, but there have been no signs of life besides us survivors. No planes or boats or anything. Maybe the outside world was affected too; maybe they are at war with each other, too busy to come to our rescue. Who knows? Many speak of alien invasions and all sorts of crazy nonsense - Anything that could help one escape from the gruelling existence that is our everyday life. Even though we dream and imagine of some explanation that will lead to us all going back to our old lives, nothing changes. So we still travel in search of supplies. We still face hunger. We still face death. For some even, all hope is lost.
It is a sad sight to see, the people who lay in the remains of streets, willing to let go of life. I disagree with them. I believe that even this life is a life worth fighting for. That’s probably why I am still here today and maybe even why I have a chance at surviving through tomorrow and every other day that comes and goes.
“… I heard she’s out in sector 15.”
“No, she’s dead.”
“People are saying they’ve seen her.”
I know I shouldn’t listen in to the barely audible conversation, but the urge was just too strong. I crept out of bed and slowly walked over to where they were talking. Every crunch of stones under my feet made me flinch in fear of being heard. There they were, sitting by the east wall of the crumpled courtyard. Muck and Jack were sitting there, legs crossed. Muck with his muddy brown hair sort of blended in with the brown stones. Jake on the other hand stood out with his blonde hair, tan skin and bright blue eyes. I’ve thought about trying to get a little closer to him as I did find him attractive, and we are both fifteen, but I have decided against it. This is not the kind of place where you would let your guard down for silly things like that.
“They told me themselves! They said they saw the body and all! It’s just not possible!” Muck was getting distraught. His voice was starting to rise.
“You know you want it to be true Mark. I am telling you that news has been floating around. People say they have seen her.” Jack remained calm.
“Lies!”
“I wouldn’t lie to you Mark. Is there any chance that they wanted to believe she was dead, any reason why they would want her away from you?”
“Are you implying that she wanted to leave me?” Muck’s emotions were starting to show now.
“No.”
I was so focused on their conversation that I almost missed the cry of alarm that came from behind me. I jumped up and turned around, to see a rock whiz past my head. “We’re under attack!” shouted an agitated voice. Instincts kicked in. I ran to get a weapon: my knife. I picked it up and pulled it from its sheath. I then turned to face the direction of assault. I froze in horror of the sight before me…
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