Life After Armageddon (Part 1)

October 20, 2009
By Wolfsfang BRONZE, Herndon, Virginia
Wolfsfang BRONZE, Herndon, Virginia
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"English? Who needs that? I'm never going to England." Homer Simpson

A white plastic bag bearing a chain-store logo tumbled down the empty street. Flags flapped half-heartedly in the breeze, tattered and dirty. The whole town seemed abandoned, deserted. I couldn’t believe I was here. No, not in a penny-a-dozen ghost town- my hometown.

My name is Scout, and this is my story.

Four years ago, the vast majority of the human population dropped dead. Another portion mutated, became feral. And then there’s us. The Unaffected. One by one, we reclaim towns, cities and rural properties. Sometimes, they’re abandoned. Others, they’re not. My job is to determine whether or not we have to kill to reclaim, and perform the initial sweep.

Shenandoah Heights was a relatively small town, with a population of two thousand. I rode down the Interstate in the middle of town, Seeker’s hooves rapping against asphalt the only sound. Memories seemed to come alive as I peered through windows. Nine and selecting my very own birthday cake. Sixteen and in the Homecoming Parade. Fourteen and working in my first job. Five and sitting on Dad’s shoulders, clutching his dark hair with tiny fists. A smile flickered across my face, undoubtedly both pained and fond. Dad had been a Mutant, and my first kill. With a butcher’s knife and his strange acidic green blood that had fallen slowly, so slowly. The only reason I’d known Dad was dead was that those amber eyes, usually so alight and like my own, had become blank and dim.

Wind plucked at my short-cropped midnight hair. The flowing air carried the sounds of a pack of Mutants from the main square. I reached for my bow, grinning.

I love my job.

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