Fallout (Closed)

After the first bomb had fallen, life as everyone knew it had come to an abrupt end. Clear blue skies and lush green fields were replaced by grey skies and charred landscapes. Some towns and cities suffered more ruin than others, but everyone seemed to suffer all the same.

Emily could remember what it was life before the bombs fell...

Parties.

The beach.

And yes... even school.

The dark-haired teen sighed as she remembered what it was life to sit in class, and she actually missed hearing Mr. Jacob's stern voice warning them not to slack off.

Now, instead of Snapchat and trips to the mall, Emily was warned day in and day out not to wander too far from the "village". In fact, she was warned not to leave the "house" she resided in... ever. Most of her friends and relatives had died or moved on, so she really had very little to leave the house for anyways, but Emily was simply restless. She knew that some of the villagers would make special trips for whatever supplies they could find and trade for, and, when she was confident no one would see her leave, the eighteen-year-old wrapped her head in a large swath of cloth to make her seem like one of the travelers. It was a bit more difficult hiding her delicate curves, but she hoped that the cover of darkness would provide enough protection.

Her young mind, however, really didn't much thought into the "rumors" of bandits and monsters that plagued the countryside. As far as she was concerned, they were just that: rumors.

Rumors in the same vein as monsters under the bed...

The boogeyman.

Yes, the world was a lot darker, but she lived in what used to be the United States. There were also rumors of larger settlements where life resembled the past.

Maybe... just maybe... she could find her way there.

While the main part of the group centered around a campfire, Emily chose to find a large oak tree to rest under. It wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep, but she felt a little safer with the large roots surrounding her. At least she thought she was safe... and then she heard the screams.

Mark was one of those rare merchants who worked alone. A trucker before the bomb had dropped, he had always enjoyed those long, lonely hours on the road. He was still doing the same thing. Except his truck was now a tractor, and he had to fight off bandits a lot more than before. Not travelling in a caravan was seen as a little bit insane, but that suited him just fine. He had never liked company much, and in a world where negotiations were done at knifepoint, he really did not want to risk taking on a business partner. He had taken one on shortly after it had all gone to hell. That rat still owed him several boxes of ammunition and a good part of his left ear.


It was a hot summer day, and he was working one of his usual trade routes - the soldiers up in the base needed slightly less irradiated food, and the farmers needed ammunition. Routine work, really. Suddenly, screams loud enough to be heard even over the noise of the engine. When he heard them, Mark immediately switched it off and took out his binoculars. A fight was going on. Judging from the packs, probably an attack on some merchants. None of his business, really, but these bandits were cowards - maybe a few shots would scare them off...

He retrieved his rifle and took up position behind a large rock. The gun had no scope, and he was not a crack shot, but he was only looking to scare them off, so he deliberately aimed high and fired. Two or three of the figures looked in his direction, then took cover. They did not return fire - they had probably not brought any rifles of their own. In order to make use of the confusion, he immediately let two more shots follow, then crawled behind a bush to get closer. When he had found a new rock to hide behind, the bandits were already in a hurry to leave - he could see them grab whatever they could carry and decided to toy with them some more. From closer up, he could actually try for aimed shots, so he chose the largest of the robber and dropped him with a hit to the chest. Their retreat turned into a wild panic as they ran away with their meager loot, leaving behind some dead merchants and their fallen "friend". Cowards.

He waited until they were far away - if they found out he was alone, maybe they would decide to come back for some revenge - then walked up to the site of the crime to help himself to some rewards for his glorious victory. Well-dressed people, clearly from one of the settlements that passed for "civilised". Much too lightly armed for the precious cargo they were carrying - high quality foodstuffs, pre-bomb antiques and other luxuries - and, to his relief, all dead. Their wares were his for the taking now, and he was about to take as much as he - or his tractor - could carry. He rummaged through their packs and found something even better: A bottle of pre-war alcohol. Booze, even homebrew, was a rarity - and if you got some, it normally tasted like fermented rat's ass, mostly because it was. This was heavenly. He took a large swig and drove up his vehicle to load it with the loot. Laboring to get it all packed under the hot sun was sweaty work; this was one of the rare moments where he wished he had taken a partner to help him with business. Then again, having no partner meant he would soon be filthy rich without having to share with anyone.

Finally, the work was done. He took one last look around the site to see if he had missed anything. Suddenly, he saw something move in the roots of a large old tree. Something moved in the corner of his eye. When he looked again, he was sure. An animal? Too large. Another of the raiders? Only one way to find out... he pointed his gun at the roots and gruffly said: "Alright, whoever is hiding in there, come out slowly."

He would feel mighty silly if it turned out to just be an animal, but you could never be too careful with those raiders. Only the month before, his merchant career, and probably his life, had nearly been ended by such a moment. That boy had been on his shoulders with a knife to his throat the moment he had turned his back on that outhouse. He still had two long scars on his neck from that, and it was by pure luck that he had managed to drop the little shit down the hole into much more shit. Not again!