As the first light of dawn filtered through the cracks of the makeshift shelter, I awoke to the sounds of the camp stirring to life. The day brought with it the necessity of routine, the need to contribute and earn my keep among these survivors who had taken me in.
After a quick breakfast of whatever was available—today, it was a sparse serving of canned beans—I sought out Beth to ask where I could be most useful. She directed me to help with the day's chores, a list that seemed to grow as the camp continued to evolve and adapt to its challenging circumstances.
My first task was with a man called Trevor. He was a tall slender man with a gruff attitude, but we got along well enough. We were to reinforce the perimeter fence, a constant concern given the threats that lurked beyond the camp's borders. Despite my still-healing arm, I found ways to assist, holding materials steady or passing tools as Trevor worked with practiced efficiency. The rhythmic sound of hammering filled the air, and all the while other members of the group kept watch with automatic rifles held at the ready. We were far enough in the middle of the countryside that I doubted the sound would attract too much attention, but nonetheless, we tried to operate as quickly as possible.
Next, I was assigned to assist with the water collection. A makeshift rainwater harvesting system had been established, but it required regular maintenance and cleaning to ensure a safe water supply. Working alongside a quiet woman named Marla, we checked the filters and cleared the gutters that fed into the storage barrels. The task was mundane but crucial, and Marla's silent focus on the work at hand spoke volumes about the importance of such tasks in our daily survival.
In the afternoon, I found myself in the camp's small makeshift garden, where some chickens were being kept. Here, Robin, Trevor's daughter, eagerly showed me how to tend to them. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and for a moment, the grim realities of our world seemed distant.
A few days passed, and I was finally getting used to being around other people again. It had been a good three months since I'd spoken to anyone who didn't either want to steal from me or, in the worst-case scenario, eat me. I tried to contribute as much as I could, despite my arm still being mostly out of commission. However, it was healing well, thanks to a scavenged bone melder patch one of the survivors had discovered in a locked cabinet at the back of the garage. I watched the patch work its magic, wincing every few seconds as it painstakingly pulled the bones back together.
Beth entered the room just as I was contemplating the marvel of modern medicine. The bed where I had first woken up had been assigned to me, and my pack and gear were neatly stored underneath it. They had even returned my Glock, which now rested in its holster on my hip.
"We'll be locking down soon," Beth announced, removing her boots and settling into her own bed. "Jake wants you to join us for dinner downstairs."
"Sure thing," I responded, appreciative of the invitation.
Jake had clearly instilled a sense of discipline within this group of survivors. Each member carried out his orders without question and with remarkable efficiency. It was evident these people had been on the move for a long time. Surviving this long in such conditions required more than just luck.
I glanced out the boarded-up window, noting the group's quick actions to secure the perimeter and erase any signs of our presence. Once the exterior was secured, the plan was to retreat to the building's basement for a meal before turning in for the night. The countless basements I'd slept in over the years came to mind; burying oneself underground was the safest way to ensure some degree of security at night. One member of the group would remain hidden in the shadows above as a lookout, vigilant for any roaming packs of mutants or snooping robots.
Following Beth, I entered the garage's main work bay, where the truck used to rescue me was stored alongside a large, old-looking camper van that had evidently supported the group in their travels. We crossed the maintenance bay and descended a flight of stone steps into the basement. With the light fading fast outside, a few candles had been lit, casting a warm, flickering glow over the spacious area.
I nodded to Trevor, one of the survivors I'd assisted in repairing a section of the fence the day before. He returned the gesture and continued conversing with his daughter, Robin. At eight years old, she was already wise beyond her years—a necessity in this harsh world. The carefree days of childhood were a distant memory; from the moment they could walk, children were taught the ways of the Wasted Earth. Anything less, and they wouldn't see their teens, let alone adulthood. Robin's smile was a rare beam of light in the darkness, and I couldn't help but return it. Despite everything, kids were still kids.
Beth guided me to the back of the basement, exchanging friendly waves and words with others along the way. It was evident she was well-regarded within the group, and despite her stern demeanor, her care for each member was unmistakable. Jake was seated cross-legged on a moth-eaten rug, in front of him a camping stove with a pot of water coming to a boil.
"I've already added the noodles. It won't be long before we can eat," he announced.
"Good, I'm famished," Beth said, taking a seat next to him. I followed suit.
"So, Nathan," Jake began, fixing me with a direct look, "you've spent a few days with us now. What do you think of our group?"
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
"I think they trust you, and it's clear they're all experienced survivors. You've got supplies and some pretty impressive weaponry," I said, nodding towards the far wall where two Stinger missile launchers, several military-grade assault rifles, and shotguns were stored.
"We all know how to use them, too," Beth added, her look sharp. Despite her cordiality, it was clear she harboured reservations about me—a sentiment I could understand and respect.
"That we do," Jake agreed. "Do you think we can risk the city?"
His question caught me off guard.
"We only have enough supplies for another week, which means we need to press on. The fastest route to reach the Reclaimers goes through the city, but I'm hesitant to risk it," he continued.
I sighed, considering the dilemma. Venturing alone through the city had been one thing; a single man could navigate quietly and quickly. But a group, complete with vehicles?
"We don't know the current state of the city. It was nuked during the wipe, so expect collapsed buildings, debris, and plenty of hiding spots for dangers. If I were you, I'd avoid it," I advised.
"It'll take at least six days to backtrack around it. By then, we'll be low on supplies and forced into a scavenging run," Beth interjected.
I leaned back, observing the group now focused on our conversation. The resolve in their eyes was palpable.
"If we could make it through during daylight, maybe it's feasible. Otherwise, it'd be akin to suicide," I concluded.
My assessment might have sounded bleak, but it was grounded in the harsh realities of surviving in such a world. Venturing into any urban area after dark was almost certainly a death sentence.
Jake absorbed my words, the weight of the decision clearly pressing on him. The room fell into a contemplative silence, each member of the group lost in their own thoughts about the potentially perilous journey ahead. After a moment, Jake finally spoke, his voice steady yet carrying an undercurrent of resolve.
"We'll need to weigh our options carefully. Safety is paramount, but so is reaching the Reclaimers. They represent a chance for something more than just survival—perhaps a chance to start anew."
Beth nodded, her expression serious. "We've managed to avoid the worst so far by sticking together and making smart choices. This decision should be no different."
"We'll scout the city's outskirts first," Jake decided, breaking the heavy atmosphere with a plan of action. "A small team can gather intel on the safest path through. Nathan, with your experience, we'd value your input on this."
I nodded, grasping the gravity of the situation. "I'll help in any way I can. Knowing what we're walking into could make all the difference. I’ll need a rifle, though."
Beth seemed poised to object, but Jake preempted her with a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder.
"I won’t send a man into such danger ill-prepared. You will have what you need," he assured me.
The meeting soon dispersed, members of the group turning their attention to preparing food on their individual stoves.
As we ate, the atmosphere lightened, conversations veering towards more mundane topics—an effort to lift spirits in anticipation of the challenges ahead. Stories were shared and laughter resonated around the room, offering a momentary reprieve from the relentless fight for survival. It was a fleeting glimpse into what life could be like beyond the pervasive fear and uncertainty.
"What do you know of the end?" Jake inquired between mouthfuls of noodles.
"Only what my parents told me. That humanity's arrogance escalated to the point where we destroyed ourselves. Despite the cautionary tales in every science fiction novel, brilliant minds pushed forward, creating the very technologies that would lead to our downfall."
Jake nodded solemnly. "I was just a boy when it happened, about eight years old. I remember having access to fresh food and clean water. And the fear in my parents' eyes. First, there was the robot war. We had one in our home, an H-10 model named Barney, that helped my mother with chores. Then, the virus spread, and Barnsey was infected. It transformed from a friendly helper to a psychotic killer in moments. The sound it made was haunting, almost as if it was struggling against its new directives."
"What happened?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.
"Barney turned violent. It brutally killed our dog first, then came for me. I managed to hide, but it tore the house apart searching for me. I was home alone; my parents were out. It found me, dragging me from my hiding spot by the throat. For a moment, its lights flickered, as if it was conflicted, hesitating. And in that moment, my father returned, shotgun in hand. He shot Barney, causing it to release me, and I ran into my mother's arms. We fled the house, hearing another gunshot and then my father's screams…"
"I'm sorry," I said, my apology sounding inadequate even to my own ears.
Jake continued, his voice heavy with the burden of his memories.
"During the chaos that followed there then came the second cataclysm, the virus was unleashed. We had been on the run for a year by then. Scientists, in their quest to extend human lifespan or cure cancer or some other bullshit excuse, had been experimenting with new DNA splicing techniques. A laboratory specializing in this research was destroyed during a skirmish between the military and the machines, inadvertently releasing the virus. Initially, it infected wildlife, creating monstrous creatures, before spreading to humans at an alarming rate. Those of us who had survived the robot uprising now had to contend with our own, twisted and mutated into homicidal monsters. The infection spread like wildfire, infecting millions. The military, quickly overwhelmed, could only watch as chaos unfolded."
"And that's when what remained of the government decided to nuke the population centers," I interjected, recalling a similar story my father had once told me.
"Yes," Jake confirmed. "We turned entire cities to glass and transformed vast swathes of land into irradiated wastelands, now roamed only by machines and mutated beasts. But even that wasn't the end of our trials."
Beth and I exchanged glances. For the first time, I wondered about Jake's mental state. After enduring such horrors, it wouldn't be surprising if he had been deeply affected.
"Please, don't look at me as though I've lost my mind," Jake said, noticing our silent exchange.
"Forgive me, Jake, but those stories about alien creatures falling to earth are just that—stories," I replied, seeking Beth's support. She remained silent, focusing instead on her noodles.
"They're real, Nathan. I saw one with my own eyes, and I pray every day that I never encounter another. Robots, mutants, marauders—I can handle those. But those things from beyond our world? Pray to God you never have to face one."
His earnestness was unsettling. The idea of extraterrestrial beings added another layer of terror to a world already filled with unimaginable horrors. Despite my skepticism, the conviction in Jake's voice made me pause. We finished off our meal and I retreated to my bed where I had dreams filled with terrors, and aliens.