It has been seven years since the world ended. It was a cold, winters morning and people were just doing what they were used to doing everyday. Men were going to work and so were women, actually. Children were getting ready for school but somewhere in the US, the head of military defense was planning something else. Ongoing peace contracts between the US and North Korea were not going very well, in fact they were not going very well at all. One button. One flash. One Apocalypse. Children over the world were killed by the initial blast and radiation. Working Men and Women were extinguished by either the bomb itself or the radiation produced. Except for a few. To be precise, 100,000 people… or so the radio said.
In turn, the radio was the only form of media left. No television, no internet and no newspapers. It was just like World War 2. I was lucky that I was in an area where so many of us survived… well thirty. We had a small community, with farmers, entertainers, doctors and anything else that we needed. We set up a ration system and the old shop owner kept his shop open for business. Life was good and that brings us to now. Seven years after. Things are worse now, to begin with four of our group have died. Two disappeared whilst hunting, one fell serious ill and the other was killed by their husband! Secondly, it’s Winter and we can’t grow many crops and finally the radio says that bandits have been raiding camps all over England.
Well, that’s it for the moment, I kind of wished that I had a more ‘interesting’ and ‘happy’ story to tell but I simply didn’t. Maybe something interesting would happen the next day. How right I was. I woke up at seven AM and got ready to go down to the shop and spend my ration. As I was only twenty-seven and did not use my ration as wisely as I could have. Returning from my trip to the shop, I brought with me some bacon, some bread, some potatoes and some ham. That would last me the day and after a whole day of doing practically nothing, I started to cook my dinner. I would have ham and mashed potato, not exactly ‘fine dining’. Just as I started to mash the potatoes, I heard a loud noise from the street. I ran to my window and pulled back the curtain, just enough for me to look through. Standing in the middle of the street with what looked like a high caliber rifle in his right hand, was a man. Wearing a straw hat and ragged clothes. “Alright. Who wants to give up their food and money?”, said the stranger. I noticed old Mr Jones step out of his house, limping, holding his walking stick. “I think you better calm do-“. Poor Mr Jones. He had been through all of this, at the age of ninety too!
The reaction was fast. The stranger raised his rifle, looked down the sight and shot Mr Jones square between his eyes. At that very second, many doors locked and many windows shut but I decided to carry on watching. The man walked up to Mr Jones’ house, disappeared inside for a few minutes and returned outside with a satchel crammed full of items. My father always used to tell me that “Desperate times call for desperate measures” so I headed to my bedroom and reached underneath my bed. I dragged out a small case and unlocked it with a small key that I kept on my bedside table. I opened the case and there it was. My father’s revolver. I picked it up and ran the smooth metal through my hands. It was loaded, luckily, as I had no idea where any of my ammo was. I returned to the window and slowly opened it, trying to make as little noise as possible. I now had the man clear in my sight and I cocked the pistol, ready to fire. Just as the stranger turned around, I pulled the trigger.
TO BE CONTINUED.
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