I.
When the world went hot life changed for everyone. The rag-tag group of travellers moving south through what remained of the American heartland had no idea how bad life was for the rest of the world, there were no more international broadcasts and nothing to watch them on, and they no longer cared. The structure of society which allowed wages to be collected and the money to be exchanged for food and necessary items, and for that food and those items to be delivered to stores in the first place, had collapsed. Cities could not sustain their populations, what was left of them. Towns and villages walled themselves in, refusing the urban refugees admittance. All that was left for the survivors was a life on the road, scrounging for food and anything they could trade at these last vestiges of civilization.
This group had crawled from the rubble of Bismark, North Dakota, into a scorched and savage America. Men, women, and children, they took what they could carry and went south to find this new land inhospitable and dangerous.
II.
Damian had been wandering for weeks already. He’d been in the capital when the month long world war had broken out. Washington DC had been hit early and Damian had travelled through the every growing waste lands as the war swept across the country. He hadn’t bothered going very far west – too many giant cities that had been nuked early on; nothing of value or interest. As winter receded he abandoned the fighting in the south and made his way north, always one step behind the destruction. He watched city after city burn, watched the civilians crawl out of the wreckage, and watched the United States of America patch itself together into a hodgepodge of walled towns, guarded farms, and strong-houses.
He reached Bismark, North Dakota so soon after the planes that he could still see the flames raging through the city. Dark memories wouldn’t allow him to venture any closer until the flames finally burned themselves out.
He walked up the deserted highway until he found the first band of survivors. An armed man atop a semi-trailer hailed him. “Hold on there! Who are you?”
“Second Lieutenant, Damian Winters of the United States Army.” There was no Veteran’s Affairs, no military command office, no one in the entire country who could tell these people, or the dozens like them, that he had been discharged for failing his last psych evaluation
“Oh good,” the man said, “Are you here to save us?”
“Save you? The entire country looks like your city back there. I’m betting the rest of the world isn’t faring any better. I’m just here trying to survive.”
The man began crying and Damian walked into the make-shift camp. He had seen refugee camps in war-torn countries and knew what to expect, but it was harder when the faces all looked like family and friends instead of foreigners. He grabbed a young boy by the arm and said, “Is anyone in charge?”
The boy pointed towards the city and Damian let him go. He continued north through the camp until he found more armed men. He left his gun slung over his shoulder and kept his hands visible as he approached, but he figured no one would know he wasn’t just another survivor from the city.
“Is someone in charge of the camp here?” he asked.
“Where did you come from?”
“Not from here. I’m just passing through, spreading the news. Is there someone in charge?”
“They’re fighting about that now,” another man said. “Over there.”
He followed the raised voices to a crowded meeting. When it became obvious no one was going to pay any attention to him he jumped on a nearby barrel and shouted, “I have news from further south!”
III.
Suddenly everyone was staring at him. There was a core group standing in the center of the crowd, mostly middle-aged men, a few young bucks, and a young blonde woman in tattered office attire.
“The rest
When the world went hot life changed for everyone. The rag-tag group of travellers moving south through what remained of the American heartland had no idea how bad life was for the rest of the world, there were no more international broadcasts and nothing to watch them on, and they no longer cared. The structure of society which allowed wages to be collected and the money to be exchanged for food and necessary items, and for that food and those items to be delivered to stores in the first place, had collapsed. Cities could not sustain their populations, what was left of them. Towns and villages walled themselves in, refusing the urban refugees admittance. All that was left for the survivors was a life on the road, scrounging for food and anything they could trade at these last vestiges of civilization.
This group had crawled from the rubble of Bismark, North Dakota, into a scorched and savage America. Men, women, and children, they took what they could carry and went south to find this new land inhospitable and dangerous.
II.
Damian had been wandering for weeks already. He’d been in the capital when the month long world war had broken out. Washington DC had been hit early and Damian had travelled through the every growing waste lands as the war swept across the country. He hadn’t bothered going very far west – too many giant cities that had been nuked early on; nothing of value or interest. As winter receded he abandoned the fighting in the south and made his way north, always one step behind the destruction. He watched city after city burn, watched the civilians crawl out of the wreckage, and watched the United States of America patch itself together into a hodgepodge of walled towns, guarded farms, and strong-houses.
He reached Bismark, North Dakota so soon after the planes that he could still see the flames raging through the city. Dark memories wouldn’t allow him to venture any closer until the flames finally burned themselves out.
He walked up the deserted highway until he found the first band of survivors. An armed man atop a semi-trailer hailed him. “Hold on there! Who are you?”
“Second Lieutenant, Damian Winters of the United States Army.” There was no Veteran’s Affairs, no military command office, no one in the entire country who could tell these people, or the dozens like them, that he had been discharged for failing his last psych evaluation
“Oh good,” the man said, “Are you here to save us?”
“Save you? The entire country looks like your city back there. I’m betting the rest of the world isn’t faring any better. I’m just here trying to survive.”
The man began crying and Damian walked into the make-shift camp. He had seen refugee camps in war-torn countries and knew what to expect, but it was harder when the faces all looked like family and friends instead of foreigners. He grabbed a young boy by the arm and said, “Is anyone in charge?”
The boy pointed towards the city and Damian let him go. He continued north through the camp until he found more armed men. He left his gun slung over his shoulder and kept his hands visible as he approached, but he figured no one would know he wasn’t just another survivor from the city.
“Is someone in charge of the camp here?” he asked.
“Where did you come from?”
“Not from here. I’m just passing through, spreading the news. Is there someone in charge?”
“They’re fighting about that now,” another man said. “Over there.”
He followed the raised voices to a crowded meeting. When it became obvious no one was going to pay any attention to him he jumped on a nearby barrel and shouted, “I have news from further south!”
III.
Suddenly everyone was staring at him. There was a core group standing in the center of the crowd, mostly middle-aged men, a few young bucks, and a young blonde woman in tattered office attire.
“The rest
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