Young Writers Society

It's an average Friday afternoon, with school over for the weekend and people on their way home from work. One minute, you are living out yet another day of your life. The next, your ears go deaf from the insatiable howling that assaults you from all directions, and as the earth seems to split around you, any glass nearby shattering, the ground under your feet shudders with vibrations strong enough to tear a home into pieces. You expect nothing less than the end of days, yet you do not die and the sound does not cease and now you're huddled somewhere, petrified of the unknown cataclysm that has suddenly snatched the reality you have always known out of your hands. Then, the ash begins to fall.

Days later and you are trapped in an endless night of ash choking out the sun. Every crevice that has not been sealed is overflowing with dust and you cannot see past your elbow if you attempt to brave the outoors. And oh that noise, it hasn't faded. Your ears are stuffed with whatever substance you found suitable enough, and yet you still can hear it, as present as if someone was screaming at your face.

Maybe a week later, maybe more, you can finally see. It isn't much, but now you can see what the ash has done. It smothers the sky, suffocating the landscape. You could vaguely discern your neighbor's house and how the roof had caved in. There are no signs of life as far as you can tell, and the noise has lowered to an occasional clap of thunder. Electricity hasn't worked since it began and now there is no more water to drink wherever you had managed to find shelter in. You must now venture out into the grey landscape, your hunger driving you to action.


What has caused this horrendous disaster, you say? A supervolcano, more precisely the one under Yellowstone National Park (about thirty four by forty five miles large), has erupted and now roughly one-third of the U.S. of A is drenched in ash. Those unfortunate enough to live closer to the eruption most definitely did not make it. An eruption that size it would effect an enormous amount land and could be heard around three-thousand miles away. And ash will reach every corner of that.

You are one of those caught under the ashfall. Breathing it in is hazardous, and if you do so for too long you'll begin coughing up your own blood and running a risk of silicosis, a lung disease, so you must wear a wet cloth over your mouth and nose to avoid that. The government is little to no help and bandits and gangs are now running wild. You must learn to rely on yourself and eventually your fellow travelers, whom you will meet on the road. We will be starting this SB with our characters alone unless previously discussed and we will gradually meet within a span of a few days to a week.


Remember, you are an ordinary person. You don't all of a sudden have mad ninja skills and beat the brains out of every thief and killer you see while saying something catchy enough to be worthy of Batman and Robin. You don't know what to do during a supervolcano apocalypse, nor do you just walk up to somebody and ask. You don't suddenly find an AK-47 while going through your first house with loads of ammo and know just how to shoot it. Life doesn't work that way, and neither will this Storybook. Your character will be bloody, starved, and beaten down. They will only have what's on their back and what's in their heads, and will not be the same person they were three weeks ago.

Please delete everything in parenthesis:

Code: Select all

[b]Name[/b]:

[b]Gender[/b]:

[b]Age[/b]:

[b]Appearance[/b]:  (Picture accepted but I <3 a good description hint hint)

[b]Personality[/b]:  (List your faults and flaunts)

[b]History[/b]:  (Be realistic; pre- apocalypse then a short history of what you've been doing up until where we will start, three weeks after the eruption)

[b]What you have:[/b]  (You do not have a kit with everything you need in it.  Maybe you managed to  get to the garage and scrounge around in there, but most likely you will not have a lot, and you won't be able to google Buzzfeed DIY's to make your own stuff with no electricity.)

[b]Up for love:[/b]  (This shouldn't be the priority of your character.  They will not fall head over heels with the first person that they meet, though romance is allowed.)

[b]Other:[/b]  (Anything I might have missed)

Please put your character in the sidebar. There is no limit as to who and how many can join (THE MORE THE MERRIER COME TO ME) and take on as many characters as you think you can handle.


~) No godmodding bc that's no fun.
~) Don't be a Mary or a Gary Sue bc they're no fun either.
~) Sex and romance is allowed but keep the explicit details out of the SB.
~) Swearing is allowed.
~) I have ultimate rule. Resisting is futile.
~) Pls uze prper grammer plz ty lolz xD !!!
~) Enjoy yourself because Storybooks a r e f o r f u n.

Bopping people from Ashfall numero uno: @Seraphinaxx, @ReisePiecey, @Skyguy, @Auxiira, @Messenger, @Basil, @Iggy ~

Link to Ashfall 1.0: Ashfall (Accepting All/ Started)

Charlie Madison

Madison stood in the center of the room, his polished black heels touching with his pointed steel-tipped toes facing forwards. He wore a casual suit of black, thinly tailored with a white shirt underneath, his white collar crisp and pristine with the first button undone. One hand was placed delicately below his chin in a standing model of Le Penseur, and his was head tilted in the similar fashion.

The wall in front of him featured a decorative white fireplace, the mantel bare, the boar's head that had been mounted onto the wall face down on the floor. A substantial crack ran through the pastel blush painted wall, arching down from the top right corner and ricocheting down upon the white mantel until it reached the carpeted floor, revealing the grey innards of the home. Behind him, paintings had fallen off of the wall and remained broken upon the ground. One of his mother's favorite chandeliers, most likely imported from France, was shattered, its glass embedded into the plush armchairs that still stood in a small circle underneath its carnage. Everything was covered in a thin layer of white dust from the acoustic ceiling that had crumbled down.

"Move the head into the foyer with the others," he said. At his bidding, one of the old gardeners, a man in his 50's, stumbled forward and began to heave the large boar head onto his knee. Madison watched the process with contempt and impatience. Finally, as the younger man that had been standing next to him went to help the older one carry it, Madison swiveled around and strode out of the room.

"Lock this room up, too."

By his last count, he had four other people still in the house. The old man, the other one, Margaret the maid, and her daughter Suzanne. The two men were with him (he had yet to ask them their names or remember them, despite them being in his home for three weeks), and Margaret was supposed to be cooking, with her daughter... somewhere. Madison didn't like children. He had been explicit with Margaret to keep her out of his sight.

He walked ahead of them as they hefted the boar's head down the hallway to the foyer, and paused at the top of the railing to watch as they heaved it down the grand staircase. The old one struggled and limped. Madison recalled that something in the house had fallen on him in the initial earthquake, damaging his leg. The younger one bore most of the load.

"To the left," he called out, surveying his display. "God, to my left."

They dropped the head with a huff, and the younger one went and retrieved one of the sticks of broken furniture that was piled next to the railing, a long jagged piece of wood that used to belong to one of the dining sets in the house. Madison observed as the man brought it over to the boar's head and impaled it, then positioned it so the head rested just over the overturned armoire. Five other animal heads, most of them deer, were positioned in a similar fashion. They all faced the front doors.

Madison smiled with pleasure. The candles lit randomly throughout the room morphed his creation's shadows into grotesque beasts, horns and mouths and teeth combining into a horrific masterpiece. He didn't trust the help not to run off if he had instead decided to place the unsightly ornaments out on the lawn, so barricading all of the other doors and setting the display up in the foyer had to do. It was sure to keep any possible thieves from entering the home much further, after his parents' rescue team finally arrived to take him out of the disaster zone.

He turned away, intending to see if Margaret had finished with dinner. He had requested the last of the chicken; the fish was already gone, and soon she had told him they would need to start going into his father's venison - he expected he'd be gone by that point. He walked back down the hallway from which he had come, the two men climbing the stairs to go complete his second task of boarding up another room - when he heard voices.

He froze, snapping his fingers at the men who had already stopped moving. The muffled voice was deep, barely more than a mumble at the front door. Hope and relief surged through Madison momentarily - had the rescue crew arrived? - as he heard the lock on the door jiggle, but then the noise paused, and his stomach twisted with panic as the tip of an axe abruptly struck through the thick wood of the door.

Símona

A heavy sigh leaves my lips as I stare at the small pile of food at my feet. Three packets of potato chips, a can of baked beans, two cans of baby vegetables, a packet of chicken noodles, and a box of five muesli bars. Normally, that would last me a day, and I wouldn't touch the vegetables. Now, I'm trying to figure out how it is going to keep me alive until I find more food. That's if I find more food. Or, I'm going to have to start eating the dead grass in the top rafters of this barn.

A loud sneeze makes me jump. I turn around to see a tall, muscular mare tugging on a dangling rope, which probably belongs to a pile of musty horse blankets. Even in this dull light, her pale gold coat looks beautiful, even if it is strekaed with ash, and her creamy white tail is matted with dirt. I've tried to brush her, but the grot won't let me near her with a brush. It must be the mustang influence. Little bugger.

"Aurion, don't touch," I warn.

The pale palomino mare looks at me, her dark eyes glimmering, before she turns around and walks over to a wooden beam to rub her neck against it. She's getting restless again. She's used to being able to roam large expanses of paddock, and galloping whenever she wants. In here, her only exercise is when I put a halter on her and make her trot around. I haven't had any energy to ride, or run. My food supplies are really running low.

"This stinks," I kick at the dirty ground. Bending down, I pack the last of the food into my backpack, stacking it nearly on top of my clothes, and the four bottles of clean water. Well, technically it's three and a quarter, but I'm gonna stay positive. I sigh again. "This really stinks."

Something crashes behind me. I spin around, my skin prickling uncomfortably as adrenalin rushes through my body. Aurion pikes her head around a corner and looks at me, her ears twitching back and forth, before she disappears. Frowning, I stroll over to her little corner in the barn and push the big horse's rump aside to see what she's staring at. My mouth hits the floor and tears well in my eyes as I see the little stash of cans. Please let them be food! I really hope whoever owned this barn was one of those nutters that prepared for the 'end of the world'.

Bending down, I pick up a can and inspect it. It feels heavy, but there isn't a label to tell me what it is. My frwon returns, and I take it over to the door, where light streams through the cracks in the wood. I pick up a rock and start hammering at the top of the can. When it finally gives way, and I can peel the lid back, I stare at the contents. Potatoes. They have to be potatoes. Diced potatoes in water, or something like that. You know, I'm not gonna complain. It's still food. Although I should make sure it's edible.

"Aurion, come here," I turn around to smile at my horse. She walks over, nostrils flaring, ears pricked forward. I tip one of the potato chunks onto my hand and hold it out to her. She sniffs at it, her eyes glued to mine. Her ears twitch, and her lips smack together as she nibbles it from my hand. I grin wide as she eats the potato chunk, and starts nudging my arm for more. "You can have this can," I hand feed her the potato slices until there are none left. "Now I gotta figure out how I can carry those cans."

Aurion lifts her head, licking her lips, and walks away from me to sniff at the stale water in the trough by the stalls. I've tried getting more, but the tap is rusted, and I'm pretty sure the water wouldn't work anyway. Aurion has been drinking it mostly, and it's almost gone. It's her health I'm really concerned about. If she died, I don't know how I'd be able to go on.

After drinking her fill, Aurion walks over to me and gives me a slobbery kiss. I can't help but giggle as her whiskers tickle me, and I shove her head away, rubbing her face. A clear trail runs over my arm where the water has washed away the grime and ash. Jeez, I really need a bath.

Suddenly, Aurion lifts her head, ears pricked forward, eyes trained on the barn door. I turn around, the hairs on my body standing on edge, heart racing in my chest, static crackling in my ears at the sudden silence. I glance quickly at Aurion, to see if it's one of those moments where she thought she heard something.

She's still staring at the door.

Slowly, I walk over to my backpack on the ground and grab my bow, slinging the quiver of arrows over my shoulder, and pulling out an arrow. Slowly and cautiously, I walk toward the door, Aurion close behind me. I can hear her soft breath as we stop in front of the door. I lift the bow, pulling back with the arrow, the sound of the wire rubbing against the bow sending a shiver down my spine.

The light streaming in through the crack in the barn door flickers. My breath hitches. The light disappears.

Someone is outside.

Nikki Cannon
I pull off my bandana and sigh. What had happened to my life? What kind of person was I? I know that the circumstances were awful and that no one would blame me, but since when did I care about other people’s opinion of me? I had just spent the last two hours rummaging through a collapsed house, looking for some kind of food or water. No water, again, but at least now I have a couple packages of Ramen Noodles. I had stepped around where I knew the owner’s lay. I hadn’t even felt guilty at the time. Now I do.

I walk through my house, not bothering to look at the mess. The carpet had been brown once. Now its grey, covered in ashes. I am covered in ashes, the street is, the sky. Literally everything is grey now. Which, I don’t really mind except it’s a constant reminder of the tragedy that will define generations.

I have been to Yellowstone before, and I have admired it’s beauty. Now it’s a wasteland. Burned, destroyed, and crushed. Practically everywhere is ruined now. At least in the United States. I wonder how Europe is faring. Obviously, they’ll be doing better than us. I wonder if they can see the sun… I haven’t seen the sun in weeks.

I go downstairs and at my couch, I strip off my snow pants, boots, and thick coat. I’m wearing only a tank top and short shorts underneath, but I put on sweat pants over my shorts. I’ve been trying to keep the ash off my bare skin and out of my sleeping area. It’s not a bedroom, but it is safe. I’ve been hiding in my food storage room. It has 3 out of 4 walls made of concrete, and it is underground, so I doubt it will collapse on me. But then again, I’m not 100% sure on anything at the moment.

I stare down at my food, and I feel it again. That deep, desperate urge to let some of the pain go. I grit my teeth as I feel the tears surface. I’m all alone. They aren’t coming back. How could this happen to me? I haven’t cried in days, but the ache is killing me inside.

First one sob escapes, then another, and then soon, I’m crying and screaming and just clutching my blankets, praying something will make it all better.

One final sob puts me past my breaking point and I tear trough the basement to the bathroom. It smells rancid and awful, and I don’t want to think about why. I just reach behind the trashcan and pick up my bag. The bag that could have taken my life away, the bag that almost ruined me. But I knew it wasn’t the bag that almost ruined me. It was what is inside the bag. I pull out the blades, the one’s I should have flushed, or thrown away. But I didn’t. Why didn’t I? I hold one in my finger-tips, ready to go back to my old coping mechanism.

But I don’t. I instead stare at it. I stare at it for full minutes, tears drying on my face. And I think of what Tucker said to me, when I had first started cutting. “Nikki,” He had said, “Why do you have band aids all over you?” His sweet innocent voice had stuck with me.

“Because sometimes I get really sad or scared, and when I do, sometimes I hurt myself.” I had told him, trying to be honest with him, but not scare him.

“Oh…” He had said, “Instead, when you’re scared or sad, you should sing. That’s what we do at preschool. Miss Harper said that singing makes you feel happy.” I had cried because of him that night. He was only four when he had said it, and granted, I never actually had sung when I wanted to cut, but I still remember it. Now he was missing, probably gone, just like Mom and Dad. All I had now was myself and the fear of death to keep me alive.

A thought strikes me. What would happen if you get ash in a cut? That is enough to make me put down the blade and walk back to my sleeping bag. I walk slowly, feeling the drain from my breakdown. I fall asleep quickly and luckily drift deep enough that I have no dreams, just darkness.

Malcolm Seager

Over time, the group from the hospital had separated into the turtles and the hares, stretched out over a lonely, ash-blanketed highway. Scattered here and there were abandoned metal carcasses, their trunks potential treasures of forgotten groceries and first aid kits. Seager did not loot through any of the cars; it wasn’t polite. After all, all the hares ahead of him were guaranteed to have already weaned any goods.

Seager limped alongside the median of the highway, using the posts for support and leaving smeared metal handprints in the ash every few feet. No one walked with him. No one talked with him. Except for the occasional introduction and listing of name, occupation, and dead family members, all were silent and numb.

Seager looked up, particles of falling ash clinging to his eyelashes and making them look fuzzy and white. Through the ashen haze, he saw a rambunctious portion of the group, those young and uninjured, lay siege to a toppled McDonald's semi truck.

The night swept into being without warning, prompting the disjointed group off the highway and into the adjacent field. Seager found a tree and collapsed beneath it, where the ash was more scarce and the scraggly green weeds below were somewhat colored through the ash. He moaned, twisting onto his side so that he could pull back his foot and inspect his ankle. It was bleeding again.

The nurse had said he was lucky. One centimeter to the left and the glass would have sliced his Achilles’ heel.

Off to his right two teenaged girls huddled together under a meager sapling. One hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth. The other sat criss-cross and picked at the grass straws at her feet. She pulled a straw out and started chewing on it.

Seager sighed. He opened the sack in his lap and pulled out one of the cans of beans. He glanced over at the girls again, wondering if he should give them one or two.

“Someone’s about ready to have a feast!” a brazen female voice to his left suddenly proclaimed.

“Beans, beans,” a man beside her said, “they’re good for your heart. Don’t eat too many, or they’ll - ”

“Shut up, dammit,” the woman said, elbowing him. “You sound like my dad.”

The man muttered what Seager assumed was the rest of the rhyme, but his words were caught behind his safety mask and muffled behind his long black beard peppered with gray ash.

The woman leaned against the tree, her eyes smiling above her mask. She seemed to be in her thirties and wore fingerless gloves, a backwards baseball cap, and leather ankle boots.

“Are you gonna invite us to dinner, sweetheart?” she asked.

Seager rolled the bean cans in his cupped hands nervously. “I’m sorry, but I was already planning to give these cans to those girls over - oomph.”

The woman kicked him in the face. Seager collapsed to the side and cowered, shielding his face with his arm. The cans spilled out of his lap, and the woman stepped forward and nudged them towards her with her foot.

“Thanks for the food, sweetheart. Sharing is caring. Remember that for next time.”

Seager saw the two teenaged girls watching with wide eyes tucked in deep, ghostly sockets, and with a sudden burst of anger, he spun around and tackled the cans and scooped them into his arms. Just as suddenly, the man with the ash-peppered beard reached down and grabbed the collar of his shirt and threw him against the ground. The woman dealt another kick, this time to his belly.

“Asshole,” she spat.

Aaron Harrison

A few days on the road, and his feet were starting to feel sore. The boots he wore, though protective and best for the situation he was in, were not the best for comfort. He paused as he leaned against a car for a small break.

Take one of the water jugs he raised it to his lips, using his handkerchief mask to make sure that the ash didn't contaminate his water, he let out a relieved sigh as the life giving liquid trickled down his throat. Only a quarter of the jug gone, he was rationing it quite well.

He was about ready to continue moving on when he heard something. Sounds of a struggle and a few irritated voices. He investigated by stepping to the side of the road and looked down to the small forms that he could see. A couple of teenage girls huddled together. A man and a woman standing over a man who seemed to be protecting something as the woman kicked him.

The grip on his broom handle spear tightened and he strode through the ash. The woman brought her leg back to kick the prone man again and Aaron quickly snapped his spear down, cracking the wood across her shin before she could connect.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" she screamed as she held her shin and hopped on one foot.

"Who the hell are you?" the man growled as he looked to Aaron.

"Just a passerby," Aaron growled back. "Saw you two ganging up on this guy and thought I would even the odds."

"This doesn't concern you," the man said. "Push off!" The man tried to shove Aaron back only to have his wrist twisted around and forced to step away from Aaron rubbing at his wrist.

"I don't like bullies. They piss me off," Aaron stated as he took a step towards the man. "How about you two hit the bricks and keep going? And maybe I'll be nice and not beat the two of you to a pulp."

"Go to hell!" The man roared as he charged Aaron.

With a single chopping motion of his hand he brought the strike on a nerve bundle in the joint of the man's neck and shoulder. The sudden shock to the nerve made the man drop to the ground unconscious.

Aaron sighed and shook his head. "If you haven't noticed, we're already in hell."

Turning to the man, he could see that he was holding several cans of food to his chest. A precious resource now. He held out a hand to help him up. He could faintly hear one of the teenage girls asking what was wrong with his face, the burn scars fully visible to them with how he turned.

Sim

The shadow disappears from the crack in the wood, wan sunlight trickling through. I just stand there, staring, wondering if it's friend or foe on the other side. My ears prickle as I listen for any sounds, but I can only hear faint talking. It doesn't grow closer, so the people don't seem to be moving. Should I saddle up my horse and hightail it out of here?

Aurion backs up suddenly, her ears going flat against her neck. I can hear the voices, very faint still, growing  closer. My heart hammers in my chest, and my feet move on their own accord. I grab Aurion's saddle and blanket, throwing it over her back. She just stands there as I fix it up, tightening the girth and lengthening the stirrups. She waits patiently for me to pack everything we have into my bag, strapping it to the end of her saddle. I contemplate getting some of the cans of potato, but I don't know how much time I have until someone opens that door. Shit, the door!

I creep over to it and pick up a bit of wood. As quietly as I can, I shove it into the bent iron on the sides of the door. There, that should delay them. I race over to the box in the floor and start picking up cans, looking for something to put them in. I find an old canvas bag and pile them in, carrying it over to Aurion and hefting it onto her back. She watches me curiously, ears up, as I tie the bag to her saddle so it won't move around when she walks or gallops. Happy that she's good for a quick flee, I turn around to face the barn door, the shadow blocking the light again. Aurion nudges my back forcefully and I turn to look at her, frowning. Her ears twitch back and forth, and she heaves a huge sigh, nostrils flaring.

Right. We can't walk through that ash without something covering our faces. I take my jacket off and throw it over the saddle, then pull my shirt over my head. I rip at the hem so tuere is fabric large enough to fit over Aurion's nose. I wet it in the trough and tie it over her muzzle, before ripping off another piece and wetting it, tying it around my face.

The barn doors rattle as something pushes against them on the other side. I bound over to my bow and sling the quiver of arrows over my shoulder. I take one out, drawing it against the string if the bow, waiting to see what happens. The door shudders, splinters falling into the ground, a shout following a loud bang. The wood barring the door cracks, and with a mighty groan, the barn doors swing open. I lift the bow higher and pull the arrow right back, an emotionless mask on my face. Four people stand in the doorway, two large men, a scrawnier man, and a woman with spiky hair. They stand in stunned silence, staring at me as the barn doors sway on the hinges, ash flowing onto the hay strewn ground. The scrawnier man seems to come to his senses, and he gives me a lopsided grin.

"Easy, kid, we just want some shelter," he says, hands up, voice muffled by the cloth over his face.

"Okay," I take a step back, elbow brushing against Aurion's chest.

"Any food?" The woman asks, voice scratchy and hoarse.

"In a box on the floor," I nod my head in the direction of the box. "There should be plenty for you all."

The scrawny man's eyes widen in shock. "Well aren't you a kind thing," he chuckles.

"I don't want to fight for it. I have enough food of my own," my eyes flit to the larger men who have moved forward to look for the box. "Are you going to be moving on?"

"Is this your barn?" The woman snaps.

"Meredith, don't be a cow," the scrawny man growls. "We don't plan on going anywhere, kid."

"I see," I glance between the four people, the larger men dragging the box of canned potatoes over to the other two.

"What are we gonna do about her, Dennis?" One of the bulky men asks, looking at Scrawny.

Scrawny looks at me, his eyes flitting to the arrow aimed right at his chest, as though he's noticing it for the first time. His eyes narrow dangerously, and he glances at Aurion, who is standing close behind me. I can see his thoughts flickering over across his eyes, processing the situation. His lips curl in a mock friendly grin as he looks at me again.

"We can have a lovely stew," he looks at Meredith. "All five of us."

"Invite her to dinner?" Meredith barks.

"Why not?" Scrawny glances at Aurion again. "She is supplying the main course."

"Touch my horse and I'll shoot you in the face," I snarl, lifting the bow to emphasise my words.

Scrawny laughs. "I doubt that," he looks at the two larger men. "Get the girl."

Quick as a flash, I move, releasing an arrow. It flies through the air and hits one of the larger men in the knee. He drops to the ground, screaming in pain. The second man stops as I pull out another arrow, aiming it at him. Scrawny and Meredith stare at me in stunned silence, uncertainty on their faces.

"Move away from the door," I command.

Meredith shuffles out of the doorway, moving over to stand beside her screaming comrade. Scrawny just glares at me, pulling a hand gun from his behind him. I don't hesitate, moving my bow and releasing the arrow. It hits Scrawny right in the chest, at the base of his neck. He falls to the ground, gurgling on his own blood. Meredith and the uninjured bulky man gasp in shock, looking st me with gaping mouths.

"Aurion," I snap. She lifts her head, snorting. "Outside."

Without being told twice, she trots over to the entrance door, stopping St the entrance to look at me. I pull out a third arrow and aim it at the other two. Cautiously, I walk over to Aurion, stopping the pull the arrow from Scrawny's throat. I wipe the blood off onto his shirt and put it back into the quiver. Huffing, I put the other arrow away and sling the bow over my shoulder before leaping onto Aurion's back. She shakes her Mane as I turn her around and push her into a gallop through the falling ash.

When the barn is no longer in sight, I pull Aurion to a stop. Dismounting, I check the material around her face, and retie it. She nudges my chest, looking at me with her wide eyes. Smiling, though she can't see it, I press my face against her forehead and hug her.

"I'm going to get you out of this," I tell her. "I promise."

She nickers, and I give her ears a quick scratch before walking around her side to climb into the saddle again. I let her set her pace, and we amble through the ash until the sun begins to set. In the distance I spot a couple of trees, and push Aurion forward. As we draw near, I notice some people spread out around a small clump of dying trees. Pulling Aurion to a halt, I look at them all, none of them showing signs of aggression or a threat. I let her walk over to a tree where two men sit, and dismount. I sit on the other side of the tree, letting Aurion settle. I'm not going to untack her just yet. I don't want someone to come up to us and force us to bail on our supplies.

"Excuse me," a deep voice says above me.

I turn my head and peer at a half scarred face. "Yes?" I ask, voice flat.

"Is that your horse?" He nods to Aurion.

Pushing myself to my feet, I position myself between him and Aurion, frowning. "Yeah, why do you ask?" I snap.

"People are going to see her as food," he tells me. "You're going to need to protect her."

"I just killed a man to protect her," I blurt out, voice cracking. "I'm well aware what people will see her as."

The man's eyes widen. "Oh," he glances over my shoulder at Aurion. "Anyway, I was gonna ask if you want to sleep with me and my buddy over here. We can keep an eye on your horse with you."

I think about it. He looks like he could become a threat very quickly, but he is offering to help. He could also be tricking me, but Aurion would wake if he went near her, and she'd wake me if he looks like a threat. I sigh, and nod reluctantly.

"Okay," I say. "But if you try anything on her, I'll kill you."

He chuckles wryly. "I don't doubt that," he offers me his hand. "Aaron Marshall."

"Símona Williams," I shake his hand. "And this is Aurion."

"Nice to meet you both," he smiles, the scarred skin on the side of his face stretching in an odd way. I find myself staring at it. I wonder how that happened. I probably shouldn't stare, he'll think I'm being rude. "Um, you can bring your horse around here."

I follow him around the tree, Aurion following close behind. A young man sits at the base of the tree, one of his legs stretched out, the ankle bandaged. He looks up at me and Aurion, his eyes widening.

"This is Símona Williams and Aurion. Theyre going to join us for the night," Aaron tells the young man.

"Oh," he smiles shyly at me. "I'm Malcolm."

"Símona, or Sim," I glance at Aaron to let him know I'm talking to him too. "And Aurion. If you touch her, I'll kill you."

"Oh, I um," Malcolm glances at my horse. "Okay."

"Good. We have that settled," I nod and turn to Aurion. "We can settle here tonight."

She let's out a relieved sigh and pushes her face into my chest, wanting her tack off.

Marianda Rockey



The room was cold. The only light was from outside, but that too felt cold. There is coughing from the corner of the room but I'm lazy to actually see who it is. The world around me feels slow, like I'm walking through molasses. I don't remember much. Except for my friends, who left me. They probably died. They probably made it. Then there was the old lady, who would also tell me to shut up and sleep during the early morning hours. She's dead too. But I'm alive. It almost feels wrong.

"Marianda, Marianda? How're you feeling? Do you want something?" The voice feels welcoming, almost too welcoming. Like, the backstabbing sweet. I blink out of the reality I live in and looked down towards an old lady. Her grey hair was shimmering in the ugly, yellow light while her pale blue eyes shown concern. I try to talk but my mouth feels stiff. How long was I out? I only tilt my head back and look at the ceiling.

"Water" was all I wanted but I knew the old lady had nothing compared to it. She would most likely just hand me some rough bread or stale cookies. My stomach growls at the thought. I'm hungry and will be until I leave. I turn towards the old lady, who still is standing there like some protective dog. I mentally sigh.

"A drink, if anything, ma'am."

She smiles. It looked fake. I hate caring people.

"Get some rest, Marianda. I'll place your water on the nightstand," she said before pointing to the corner of the room. The same corner that the coughing came from earlier. I sluggishly walk to my bed, to clean to actually enjoy. My fatigue is bringing me down, I try to fight it, slipping into a deep sleepwalk and before I know it, I fall face forward onto the bed. The coughing is next to me, comes quietly at first then slowly gets louder. I feel bad but not too much. As if they are a nearly dead kitten and I am the poor garbage man that's has to clean it up.

I fall to sleep quite fast, my breathing rigged and my head throbbing. I see my mother in my dream; she's dressed in white and her hair tied tight. I try to call out but she doesn't listen. She almost never did. In this dream I'm having, her arm is around my father (who looks almost as tired as I am) and smiling, chattering. Her words go in the winds, curling around my throat like a rope. Tears sting my eyes and cheeks as they fall.
The dream changes and I'm in a cold room. I look around, seeing nothing but darkness. There is something glowing red at the end of this darkness, like an annoying printer light. My legs move without my command, stumbling over rocks and mud caking my fingers. A rush of happiness overcomes me. Then, that voice, my mother's voice, calls out to me.

"Impatience is what one only has to survive in this world. It goes hand and hand with luck." The voice echoes over the cave. A longing hatred wells in my chest and so becomes the sadness I felt before.

I try to form words but they are stuck in my throat, cowarding. This is only a dream. This is only a memory my thoughts tell me. I continue to climb towards the blinking red light. My mother's voice rings in my head: "Turn back while you still can." My legs slip. Falling. Endlessly.

Until I wake up again, sweating. I look around the room that I'm staying in. Dusty moonlight drifts through one of the windows and sprawls onto the floor. Everyone is snoring, curled tight in the blankets. I regain my breathing again by drinking the water the old lady brought, then fall back onto the pillows. I stare at the ceiling, grabbing the last bit of my dream and thought of the meaning before I fell back to sleep.



"Marianda! Wake up! Breakfast is ready!"

I grumbled, going deeper into my cocoon, enjoying the everlasting warmth that will replaced with cement flooring.

"Miss Greb doesn't like people sleeping in! Wake up!" and with one kick, I'm sprawled with one leg on the bed and one leg on the floor.

I sighed and climb back onto the bed. '"Why can't I have breakfast in bed?"

The person who kicked me out of my bed was a girl with obnoxious red curly hair that moved everything she would walk and had cold, teal eyes. I don't remember her name but I call her Callie. She's also the assistant to Miss Greb, the old women who offered me a glass of water, and ten years old. The horrible years.

She put a hand to her hip. "Miss Greb doesn't want messes in bed."

"What if I'm careful?"

Callie raises an eyebrow and shook her head. "You're never careful." Then turned around and called back, "Breakfast ends in twenty minutes!"

I glare at her backside before sliding into my bed. My stomach doesn't like the idea and starts to growl. Shush.
Peeking over the top of the blankets at a window, it's still very cloudy outside and hardly any sun has shown since yesterday. I roll over on my other side, facing the bunk next to me. The blankets are on the floor, along with a pink pillow, and glasses folded neatly on the bed stand next to it. Who would forget their glasses an go downstairs without them? Probably someone pathetic and careless.
Then rolling onto my back, I stare at the ceiling. Last night's dream doesn't leave me. It's locked deep in my heart, like a monster in a cage. I curl my lips, mostly in disgust with myself and partly a regret that I would live with forever.

"Marianda, sweetie." Here we go again. "Can you please come down for breakfast?"

"I'm afraid I can't, Miss Greb. I'm sick." I fake a cough afterwards and move deeper into the blankets.

"But, dear, you haven't eaten since we first found you! And even when we tried to give you food, all you did was push it away. Martin didn't like cleaning up last night's dinner."

A silence.

"What if I bring up your food up? Will you eat it then in your bed?"

"Sure."

Miss Greb made a squeak then left, leaving the door slightly ajar. A few moments later, Miss Greb sent up a scrawny boy with brown hair to give me my food. He seemed nervous almost, nearly knocking the food onto floor when I took it. I only took it (after countless times of him saying "sorry". He left later, almost tripping down the steps) and ate in peace. The sunlight was slowly moving across the room, lingering on bed sheets that held it's warmth. I sighed, munching on toast.
I thought as I chewed, slowly recalling the events of yesterday. The days afterwards seemed to be tense, like a bubble about to be popped. It all happened too fast and I wished I could relive it, not actually be there but like some form of invisible ghost overlooking the approaching disaster. I set the toast on the plate and put the tray on the floor. I could hear voices coming upstairs. Some were arguing while others were in a silent monologue about how breakfast was (someone complained on how the bacon was too fatty). I had hoped they wouldn't bother me, leaving me to my slumber. Something I would grow accustom to in the nearing days. Being alone was something I envied and loved. You can see everyone and everything in one place then figure out what they are thinking at that exact time from their facial features.

"Hey, Marianda, does this need to go downstairs?"

"If it is on the floor, then maybe so."

I heard the tray being picked up and footsteps quietly walking downstairs. I was turned to the wall, having the farthest cot in the room. I didn't dare look at the beholder of the tray; I didn't want to interact with people.

Until, of course, an annoying child with bouncy yellow pigtails started to jump on my bed.

"Marianda, wake up! Mama is gonna tell us a story! Wake up, you lazy-" I sat up quite quickly, jolting the girl onto the floor. Everyone in the room was looking at me, like some crazed animal.

"I rather sleep than listen to something fictional," and then fell back down onto the bed. Whispers and comments were around me. I was used to it. I sighed, closing my eyes, hoping that this endless day would come to an end.

Naomi | Sioux Falls | 5 hours from Minneapolis by Motorbike

Yesterday. That was when Naomi was supposed to have left the area; she'd been planning it for days. And she'd tried. She'd started up the bike, tied a dishcloth over her mouth, loaded up her backpack and got as far as the Co-Op. She'd only meant to stop off to get some water but there wasn't any there. The aisle where it should have been was buried beneath a sea of plaster and roof tiles and most of the shop was in the same state. Maybe it happened a few days ago or maybe it had been like that from the start.

Naomi tried to think which other shops were within walking distance which the neighbour might have visited - he'd brought her water from somewhere. So she'd gone to the next and to another after that and all the while the ash was clogging up the cloth over her face and her tears streamed down her cheeks, wetting the cloth almost enough to make a mouthful of ash seem like a good idea.

And at last she found a newagents which hadn't been buried or entirely looted or a combination of the two and it was just such a relief to have food and water that she dragged her bike to the far corner and huddled down and cried great, big, racking sobs. She tore the cloth from her face and threw it across the room and she cried so hard that she started to cough. She grabbed a bottle of soda from the shelf and drank it down and gobbled up a chocolate bar before falling into a fitful sleep.

Last night it had looked like a paradise but in the hazy glow of morning, Naomi could see it for what it was. Most of the shelves were bare and the food that had been left behind was rotting, which explained the God awful smell, except for a few shiny, foil wrapped chocolate bars and some packets of biscuits.

It was time to move on. Minneapolis wasn't more than half a day's ride away and she had enough fuel to get almost there. And maybe - just maybe - that was where Luke had gone too, but even considering the possibility made tears run hot and fierce down her cheeks because he might not have just as easily. She washed the cloth out with a bottle of coke but used as little liquid as possible and greedily drank the rest. Then she ripped into a packet of biscuits and crammed them into her mouth and instantly regretted it as the dry, powdery texture tickled her tonsils and set her off coughing again. She swallowed some more coke, got some of the biscuits down and then added two packs of them to her backpack along with the chocolate bars and what was left of the drinks - one can of fanta and a bottle of mountain dew.

Then Naomi got back on her bike and wound her way through the silent streets of Sioux Falls. She took exit 10A and began to follow the I-90 E and she wondered how far she'd get before she'd have to walk or steal some gas from someone's car. More than that, she wondered how far she'd have to go before she found civilisation again - people, fresh water, doctors, food which didn't come out of a can. Midwives. People who knew what a baby might need.

Clarke Simmons

I’ve been following the highway for the past few days now. It has to lead me somewhere better than the rest of this hell hole, but even I know that’s not gonna happen. I imagined that the end of the world would look different than this. I expected raining fire and casms splitting open into hell. I did not expect ash, anymore than I expected savageness to take over what seemed left of the human race. Then again, there was news of fire falling from the sky near yellowstone, so I guess that’s close enough.

I’ve always been the type to prefer patterns to spontaneity, but my daily pattern is almost unsettling. I haven’t seen any people in a few days, and I’m not sure I want to run into anyone. I mostly move and scavenge during the day, and I sleep in abandoned cars at night. The highway is quiet and straight surrounded by trees on both sides. The piled up cars create a dense maze that make it easier to not be seen just in case.

After a few hours of walking, I hear the slight sounds of voices in front of me. They have to be a good 200 yards away so I’ve some chance of not running into any of them. I just have to be smart and maneuver my way through them without being seen. I turn the bend of a trashed SUV when I see a few boxes filled to the top with supplies. Inevitably my stomach rumbles right at that moment, and I clench my fists. Sometimes you just need to tell yourself what you want to hear. I just pray there are no children.

One can of soup and a water bottle won't kill them right? They won't even notice it's gone.

Bull shit.

I kneel down towards the boxes, and snatch a larger water bottle and a can of spaghettios. A memory flashes in my head of my brother and I fighting over the last spoonful of spaghettios when we were kids. I shake the memory from my head as I stash the supplies into my pack. I go to stand up when the barrel of a gun is placed at my back.

“You shouldn’t have done that. I suggest you put the gun from your waistband on the floor, and face me.” A gruff voice whispers. I comply slowly turning towards him first putting my gun on the floor, then putting my hands up.

“That was all I was going to take. I promise.” I try to explain. “I was hungry…”

“It was enough to piss me off, and we’re all hungry.” He says, his anger growing. “You’ll be coming with me.” He reaches into his pocket, and pull out a pair of zip ties. My mind flashes, and suddenly my instincts kick in. I swiftly turn my body to kick him straight in the crotch sending the gun flying from his hand. I grab my gun and run. The man groans from the disorientation, and quickly scrambles to pick up his gun. Seconds later I hear a gunshot ring out and a sharp pain shoots through the side of my upper arm. I collapse behind a car and notice the blood pooling at the hole in my sleeve. I clutch my gun tightly.

Shit.

“Come out now you bitch!” He yells.

“What the hell is going here?” A new voice appears along with the sounds of many footsteps. God there are more of them. I wait silently listening for any kind of sign for what kind of people they are.

“Some bitch was trying to steal from us!”

“So you shot at her!?”

“No, I was going to bring her to the group. Decide from there, but she had other ideas. It was meant to be a warning shot.”

“Where is she?” The voice asks.

“Behind one of the cars, but she has a gun. We should just leave her.”

“No we can't do that. If you shot her, that means our group is now responsible for her life. Am I clear?”

“You don't tell me what to do boy.” The man says growling.

“Neither you nor your family would be alive without me. So I suggest you rethink your tone.” The man stays silent and I hear the sound of footsteps approach. “Hello?”

“Don't come any closer!” I warn. “I will shoot!”

“Look, I know you got hit, and I'm trying to help.”

“I'll be fine.” I say.

“No you won't. You and I both know that you can't keep the ash out of that cut by yourself. Besides some in our group have medical training and supplies.”

“You know nothing about me.” I spit.

“You’re right. I don't. But what I do know is we have supplies, and shelter. It's not much, but it keeps us alive. And besides, I don't see any 4 star hotels anywhere nearby. Do you have any other choice? Because the fact you stole from us means you are hungry…” Once again my stomach rumbles. I sigh, slowly looking up from the hood of the car. The man is different than I expected. He is much younger than his mature tone led me to believe. He must be close to my age.

“And I can leave whenever I want?”

“Yes. All we ask is that you contribute while you are with us.” I look down once again at the blood glistening from my sleeve.

“You've got a deal.”

Naomi

An awful death rattle had started coming from the bike more than ten minutes ago as Naomi tried to coax it to run on an empty tank. She'd hoped to make it most of the way to Minneapolis but she'd had to take several detours when she came across roads completely blocked by a traffic jam of broken down or stalled cars. She hadn't wanted to look too closely inside them; she didn't want to know what had happened to people who were outside when the worst of it happened. One road had been hit hard by something hot and was strewn with debris and the tarmac surface had melted and then set in a bubbled crater. The bike gasped and stalled.

Naomi tried to start the engine again but the bike was having none of it and she cursed as she realised she'd traveled so far down a side route to avoid the last blockage that there wasn't another car in sight. She'd kept hoping and hoping that there'd be one just around the corner but now it looked like she'd have to travel on foot; hopefully not for long. Naomi removed her helmet, took a quick swig from her mountain dew bottle and then re-tied the piece of cloth over her face. She hung her helmet and gloves from the handlebars and set off at a brisk pace.

The first ten minutes were actually pleasant and Naomi stretched out her legs as she pushed the bike along. The next ten minutes were harder and the silence started to feel oppressive and the ten minutes after that left her back aching and she wondered if it was the weight of the backpack or, more likely, the awkward stooped position that pushing her bike had put her in since the backpack was half empty. She found she had to push the bike for five minutes and then lean against it to rest for the next five and she crept along the side road in this fashion for the next three hours. Then the road turned a corner and almost as if by accident she stumbled on a beautiful, orange car. Its paintwork was metallic and a few weeks back Namoi would have said it was an ugly, squashed looking car but now it felt like looking up at the sky after a hard day and suddenly seeing the most beautiful sunset. Her heart lurched with an agonising hope as she left the bike and ran to the car.

After checking and confirming there was fuel in the car, Naomi let out a huge shriek and punched the air, almost falling into the car in her relief. She kissed the car bonnet and then kissed the fingers of her hand, lifted her jumper and top and pressed them firmly against her belly. Luke, if you could see me now. We're coming to find you, me and the baby. Your baby.

Then Naomi's stomach rumbled in complaint so she pulled a can of ham and the can opener out of her bag and ate a hurried lunch and drank the can of fanta from the morning's raid. Then she unfastened the siphon pump from the back of her motorcycle and transferred the fuel across. The car was barely a quarter full but it was more than enough to fill her 14 litre tank and it wasn't long before she was back on the road. With so much time lost, Naomi's chances of reaching Minneapolis before nightfall were slim so she carried on along the route until she reached a small housing estate. She knocked on a few doors but nobody seemed to be in so she stood back from one of the houses and threw rocks at the window until it broke. She cringed as the sound of tinkling glass echoed through the quiet neighbourhood but if anyone was hiding in one of the houses, they didn't come to investigate.

Naomi tried the taps in the hope some water might be left in a few of the pipes but nothing came out; they were clearly run off the mains. She checked the cupboards as well and added a few extra tins of food to her bag but other than a cupboard with some alcohol, there wasn't any liquid to be had. Would a glass of wine hurt the baby? Had she read somewhere that a glass of wine a day was good for a baby? Naomi sighed and added the bottle of white to her rucksack anyway - maybe she could trade it if she found people before she got desperate. Then she went upstairs and slept.

As soon as it was light enough to be moving, Naomi was back on the road and she followed it back to the highway and pushed on. She was making good progress and it was still barely light when she saw movement up ahead in a field just off the side of the road ad realised there were people there. Naomi felt that agonizing lurch for the second time and before she'd really thought about it, she'd stopped her bike and swung her legs over the side. People! It had been days since she'd seen anyone and the idea of actually talking to someone before she turned in for the night seemed amazing.

"'ey- uh- ii-" Naomi's voice cracked at first but she she licked her lips and tried again and her words came out clearer. "Hi. I saw you from the road and-"

"Sorry, we cant spare any food," stated a pretty girl with light brown hair who was standing next to - of all things - a horse! Two men approached close behind her and a girl with a bloodied bandage over her arm stood a little to one side.Behind them there were more people - a pair of teenage girls, some older women, a gruff looking older man and a couple more. Naomi honesty couldn't remember the last time she'd seen so many people and she felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She wanted to tell them that she did't care about the water and that she was just so grateful to actually have found some form of civilisation but she found herself asking:

"What about water? Please? I've got some biscuits or some cereal I can trade?"

Sim

The sun rises very slowly, wan light filtering through the haze of ash trickling down from the sky. Aurion still snores beside me, her nose resting just above the ground, cleared of ash so she doesn’t end up breathing it in. I watch her with sad eyes, taking in the planes of her face, the sloping of her neck, the bumps and dents along her nose and above her eyes. She looks so peaceful when she’s asleep. I turn my gaze to the two men asleep by the tree. The one with the injured ankle looks to be in pain, while the other one has a different kind of pained expression etched into his features. Both look harmless in their sleep, but I don’t want to talk any chances with them.

As the world begins to light up, and the morning becomes warmer, people start to stir. I push myself to my feet and shove Aurion in the shoulder so she wakes up. I put her saddle and bridle on, making sure the girth is nice and tight. I’m about to swing up into the saddle to leave and make my own way, when a timid voice makes me stop and spin around.

“Hi. I saw you from the road and –“

I narrow my gaze at the moment standing before me, her black hair mussed, her clothes ruffled. “Sorry, we can’t spare any food,” I snap.

She licks her lips nervously, eyes darting behind me where the others are moving closer. “What about water? Please? I've got some biscuits or some cereal I can trade?” She asks, a pleading note in her voice.

“Here,” Aaron steps around me and offers the woman a bottle of water. She grins at him sheepishly and pulls her pack off her shoulder and riffles through to pull out two cans of food. Aaron holds up a hand and shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Are you … sure?” The woman looks at the others gathering around, and at Aurion. “That’s a lovely horse you have there,” she gives me a nervous smile.

Aurion puffs up her chest, lifting her head. I glare at her and heave a sigh. “Don’t let it go to your head,” I mutter to her.

“So where are you headed?” Aaron asks conversationally.

“I’m looking for someone,” she says.

I zone out and turn around to walk over to Malcolm, who is trying to stand up. Aurion nudges my side and strolls over to him, offering her bridle for support. Malcolm seems very taken aback by her offer, but grips the leather anyway. Aurion helps him to his feet and gives me a look. Damn horse.

“So ah … what’s wrong with your foot?” I ask.

“Glass went through it,” he says, not meeting my gaze. “Thankfully missing the really vital parts of my foot.”

“Yeah,” I look at Aurion, and then back to Malcolm. “Are you … going to be okay?” I ask awkwardly.

“Um, yeah,” he gives me a curious look.

“That’s good,” I look at Aurion with narrowed eyes. “Come on you, we’re moving on.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Malcolm barks in shock.

“Yes,” I continue glaring at my horse, who doesn’t look like she’s going to be moving any time soon.

“Wouldn’t it be better to stay in a group?” He asks.

Marianda Rockey

The sunlight had peeked through the smoggy window, at last. It spread across the room, leaping over beds, before settling on my face. I rolled over, indulging in the sunlight hitting my blanketed back. The story time had slowly become just muttering in beds, separated by the fear of what could happen. I hardly understood what was happening. My dreams lately, as it sounds surprising, were filled with luck and bright lights. There were times I saw my mother and father, they looked both so happy. Of course, it slipped through my fingertips. Like sand. Or, ash. My dreams have been turning into slime. It sticks to my brain. I remember it in whenever I'm sad and then blame myself for what has happened. Leaving my parents. My dog. My boyfriend. It seems distant, like a lighthouse searching for a boat in a fogging ocean.
I found myself awake, staring at the wall. Most of the people in the room had gone downstairs to play games or go outside. Personally, I find it sickening to do anything. My stomach growled, growing used to the fad diet of eating every other day. Saving food, Miss Gerb reassures. It is almost fake. I've mentioned before how I hate fake people. Their joyous smiles hold so much more. So much pain stored inside one person. Why would the world do something like this?
Sighing, I cut off these thoughts before they take over me. I slowly sit up, noticing how stuffy it was in the room. There's a window but I have a fear of what is outside. I remember, heavy black clouds. Thundering booms that rattled over the valley. The air was thick. I couldn't breathe. I was left to die. My crew, of only ten, moved on. I clawed and pulled. I felt like I was hanging on death. A string. Scissors hovering over with a cheeky smile holding them. I remembered when I was teaching preschoolers, as an exercise to learn how people work, they would cut out bodies out of colorful paper. They snip and snip, some of these pieces rendering flowers or animals. Small pieces of papers were on the floor. Someone would then have to clean it up, sweeping carefully. The children would then continue on.
I was the paper, like I said. More or less, a figment of everyone's imagination. Miss Gerb had mentioned something about getting supplies from a store. A surviving store that was northwest of our fort. I wonder if she could get me paper.

Sitting up in the bed now, there are only a few remaining people in the bed. A cot is in front of mine held a boy, I think his name was Marshall, who slept through breakfast. He might've been dead. I hardly knew. Next to my cot was another person. They were reading a book titled Five Ways to Survive Love with a sly grin on their face. Their glasses were placed on a bedside table, facing the window. A small oil lamp laid near more books. I looked at the person and realized it was a guy with blonde hair that peeked all over the place. Hazel eyes that read each word. Firm lips that were spread lightly apart. Small breathes every moment. I couldn't remember his name as he turned the page.

"Can I help you?"

I blinked, regaining composure before crossing my arms.

"No. Why do you ask?"

The man chuckled. "I caught you staring at me."

"I was looking at your book."

He hummed, turning the page.

"And thinking how stupid it is for someone to be writing a how-to book about love."

The guy then huffed, crumpling the page he was on. I smirked at my success, leaning back into my pillows and started to stare at the ceiling. Rubber bands hung from it, probably from past children who got bored. They waved lightly from the slight wind the windows gave us. Still, the room felt lonely. Like, the lonely feeling you get when you're daydreaming of distant lands. Or, the room itself was waiting for a change. Personally, I dislike sudden changes. The future makes me weak and scared. This event alters the future of my living and I'm unsure what could happen next.
I calmed myself by fingering the rough lines of my blanket. It was a light pink and green, zigzagging along the each other like racing children. Mrs. Gerb had mentioned that the blankets were her children, who she had tried to save before the volcano. She also said it was in her right to forget; they were stubborn and didn't want to leave. A mother's word, I suppose. I hadn't realized the hardships of everyone here. I just assumed they were all people who lived normal lives. But what is a normal life? Why do we think we're normal when we aren't? A teacher I worked with had asked me while reading a book. I hardly responded, ignoring the guilt of not knowing.

My mother before she died told me the color green was a sign of hope. After a winter storm, when it was white and quiet, underneath it all was a field of flowers and leaves. As the seasons passed, spring seemed to be the season of growing hope. Flowers wrapped around trees. Birds sang. It was a happy season. One without a disruption.
Ash settles along my hands, hips, and eyes. I do not see green. I only see black.



I woke up from an unexpected slumber. A plate of food was placed on my bedside table, grapes and cheese. Crackers were placed in a bowl. Juice was placed next to the table, a pinkish glare moved over the wood bedside table. Yawning, I sat up. It was darker than it had been earlier, the evening sun slated against the foggy windows. Blankets were folded on the beds, pillows fluffed, and books placed neatly on the bedside tables.

"Everyone must be downstairs enjoying dinner," I muttered. Regaining composure, I decided to go downstairs, in spite of my constant pleading of my brain to sleep more. I maneuvered through the hallways of the house, checking in the open doors and saw nothing. Each room I looked in had a lamp turned out, faintly glowing against the walls. I grimaced, pushing forward. The stairs, covered in an ugly green carpet, lead down to the froyer. The air smelled stale and wet. An anxious feeling rolled up into my throat, causing me to stumble down the remaining steps. A faint static came from the living room, which also had a lamp turned on. The yellow lighting was sprawn on the carpeted floor. Chairs were facing the TV, a perfect arrangement. As I headed to the kitchen, I noted the lack of seasoning in the air. Moist, is what I would call it. Sticky. Humid. Unpleasant.
Nearing the kitchen, I caught of something from the corner of my eye.

"Nice try, Callie."

I made it to the kitchen, hastily. The lights were dimmed, tables spread evenly. Plates with utensils at each side.

"Miss Gerb?" I called out, my voice echoing over the pristine eating area. "Anyone?"

My gut instinct was telling me two things a.) the group left me (again) or b.) everyone is playing capture the flag without me, but who play that in this type of weather? I sighed deciding to check outside. It was probably too fast of a option as I opened the door, I was welcomed by a wave of heat and blinding light. Covering my face with my arm, I stepped out. The area around the house seemed to be pressed down with trees bent to the ground. Instead of the normal green and brown, all of the trees were grey.

"Hello? Anyone here?" An awkward silence wavered over the valley, mingling with the sunlight. As I got a few feet from the front door, a slight wind picked up. It brought the smell of something dead with something else. I couldn't quite place it; a mix between hazelnuts and brunt rubber.
There is a noise to the right of me. Looking towards the noise, I figured it was either a bunny or another woodland animal. What I didn't expect was a person riding a horse to emerge. They looked worn down, brown hair was plastered to their face, harsh brown eyes staring down at me. The horse was white white small hints of brown in some places. I sighed.

"Thank god I found someone out here. I was beginning to think everyone disappeared," I joked. The person pressed their lips together.

"Come with me. It might just save your life."

A loud rumbling came from the right of us. It echoed over where were standing.

"Hurry. Not time to waste. Get on Junior."

"But what about everyone else?"

The person narrowed their eyes. "There is no one else."



I jolted awake. It was pitch black in the room, everyone asleep. I gulped, trying to catch my breath. Moving a shaking hand, I turned on a nightside light. The dimness reached my bed and the person next to me, their back faced away from me. I pulled my knees to my chest, counting backwards from five. I hadn't notice the person next to me turn over, glaring at me.

"Why the hell is the light turned on?"

"I had a nightmare," I muttered. The man sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. He then sat up and placed on his glasses.

"What was it about?"

I rested my chin on the tops of my knees, glaring at the wall. "Nobody was here. I was the only one left. Everywhere I looked, it was bleak."

"I'm sure they'll never happen, Marianda."

I turned my head suddenly. "How do you know my name?"

The man guffawed. "Miss Gerb mentioned you at lunch. How I should came up here and woke you up, which I tried, but you had passed out. So, I let you sleep. Plus I'm sure almost everyone knows your name here."

I sighed, turning back to my original position. "I just find it odd, that's all."

"My name is Keith, if that makes it any better."

I shrugged, stretching out my legs. The pink and green quilt looked brighter in the dimmed light. Keith yawned, rubbing a finger on his left eye.

"Now, if you could be so kind-"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll shut off the light. Just give me a moment."

It was Keith's turn to shrug as he took off his glasses and fell back asleep. I hadn't planned on making any friends, as I leaned over and shut off the light, because no one really seemed to like me. Even as a teacher, I was made fun of with glances. It was like middle school. As I laid down, these thoughts galloped through my brain as sleep rested over my body like a blanket, once again.

Aaron Harrison

The morning came just as drearily as all the others. He had woken up before the man beside him. Standing he brushed off the bits of ash that had fallen on his pants, before he pulled out a kids breakfast bar. It was high in sugar, but it was better than nothing.

"I would kill for some coffee right about now," he muttered to himself as he bit into the sugary bar. On his feet he gathered his things and checked the splint to make sure that the man's ankle didn't move.

"Hi. I saw you from the road and - " he heard behind him. Maybe it was just nerves, or it was what was happening to him with all this hell going on, but his first reaction was to grab his broom handle spear and prepare to fight. The woman that stood there looked completely...ecstatic. He guessed she hadn't seen people in a while.

"Sorry, we can't spare any food," Sim said to the woman.

"What about water? Please? I've got some biscuits or some cereal I can trade?"

Aaron couldn't tell if she was desperate for the water, or for interaction. She seemed to be completely locked on staying around them. "Here," he said pulling out one of the bottles that he had filled from his pack. Holding it out the woman quickly begins getting things to trade with. "No, it's fine."

"Are you...sure? That's a lovely horse you have there," she says warmly.

Aaron heard Sim mutter something to Aurion and shook his head a little. "So where are you headed?"

"I'm looking for someone," the woman says gently.

"Aren't we all," Aaron mutters getting his spear and pack. "I'm surprised to see that someone still has a mode of transportation that isn't walking. First a horse and now a bike."

"Yeah. It gets me moving, kinda rough in the ash drifts though."

"I bet," he says looking over his shoulder. He saw Sim sitting on her horse and getting ready to leave. "Excuse me a moment," he said marching back.

"Wouldn't it be better to stay in a group?" he heard Malcolm ask.

"If she wants to leave that's her choice. I can certainly understand it. Feeding that horse must take a toll on your supplies and you don't want to have to share them. I don't know if you know anything about what happened. But keep heading East. That's where everyone evacuated to. Try and stay off the roads with that horse if you're going off by yourself. I sincerely hope you make it."

Aaron headed back to the woman that arrived that morning and sighed. "I'm heading East. I don't know what the rest of this group is doing. If you're looking for someone, you should head that way too. With any luck they heard some of the evacuation broadcasts."

Naomi

The tall man with the scarred face and long hair headed back over to her and Naomi quickly lowered the water bottle she'd been guzzling from. She should save some for later anyway since she didn't know how much the group had, though they'd been quick enough to give it to her. Clearly they had more water than food anyway. She wondered fleetingly if the man's hair had been long before the world ended, if he'd had that burn scar before...

"I'm heading East," the man said. "I don't know what the rest of this group is doing. If you're looking for someone, you should head that way too. With any luck they heard some of the evacuation broadcasts."

Naomi wasn't sure she much minded the rude girl leaving but she hadn't intended to stay still for long anyway and her ears pricked up about the evacuation broadcasts. Luke was into all that computer junk so it did seem possible he might have wired up something to listen to broadcasts on. Naomi felt embarrassed to realise she'd never even tried.

"Well if it's just the three of us and you want to move fast, I can take you on my bike," she offered.

"We should go or stay together," the shorter man suggested, throwing a glance back at the pretty blonde girl. She shrugged and crossed her arms and Naomi couldn't help noticing her bandage again - did someone in the group have medical training? Was there a doctor? A doctor for when the baby was ready to come out?

"East sounds as good as anywhere," the blonde girl said. For as much as she seemed to have placed herself on the edge of the group, she seemed a lot more approachable than the irritable girl with the horse.

"We need to ask the others then," the short man concluded. When nobody else moved to do as he suggested, he sighed and headed over to the teenage girls. Were they his family? Siblings perhaps? He looked to be about her age so too young to be the father. Did that make her too young to be having this baby? Her mother would flip if she... if she was alive, which she might be, if she-

"You might want to keep a close eye on that bike," the tall man said, his eyes looking at some of the other people in the field.

"Why? Don't you trust them?"

"I don't know them," he said. "But I know transport is valuable now."

Naomi nodded - he was right. Edible transport was perhaps even more valuable so perhaps the horse was in more trouble than her bike, but a bike wouldn't complain if you took it away from its owner and most people probably knew more about riding bikes than they did taking care of horses.

"You can still ride with me, if you want to. The bike's heavy to push so we could scout ahead?"

"I'll ride with you," the blonde girl said suddenly. Naomi looked to the tall man who smiled and then nodded, happy for her to take his place.

"Sure, okay," Naomi agreed.

A little while later, the shorter man came back over and said the group had agreed to move with them.

"Great, well me and- uh- sorry, I guess I don't know any of your names," Naomi floundered. "I'm Naomi."

"Clarke," the blonde girl said.

"I'm Aaron and these are Malcolm and Sim."

"Great, well it's nice to meet you, or it would be if the world wasn't- you know." That created a moment of silence which Naomi quickly stamped upon. "Well hop on Clarke, let's go scout ahead."

Clarke nodded and Naomi got back on her bike, put her gloves back on and tied the dust mask around her mouth. She hesitated before putting the helmet on as well. Afterall, she was protecting two lives.

"Sorry, I don't have a spare but we'll go slowly."

There was little point out-pacing the group too much anyway.


They'd reached the first fork in the road and taken the motorcycle up both paths to determine the better one - the left - and were now parked waiting for the group. Naomi pulled her dust mask off and Clarke relaxed her grip on the other woman's back a little.

"Your arm looks like it could use a new bandage," Naomi said, cutting straight to the chase. "Did someone in the group do that for you?"

"Someone did it to me," the girl shot back. Then she sighed. "But one of the others bandages me up."

Naomi stared at her. "One of them shot you?"

Clarke smiled. "I'll point him out when they catch up. Stealing his food is not a good idea."

Naomi shook her head and suddenly she felt tears in her eyes as her heart hammered in fear. All it could take was a shot to the stomach or a kick or- if this group were violent, what kind of danger was the putting the baby in by staying with them?

"Hey- it's okay," Clarke said, patting her on the back a little awkwardly. "I feel like that sometimes too."

"I'm not afraid," Naomi insisted. "I'm- I'm just-" But wasn't she? Naomi looked down at her belly and reached a decision. "Was the man who bandaged your arm a doctor?"

"Why do you care so much?"

The girl seemed reluctant to talk about it so Naomi blurted it out: "I'm pregnant."

Clarke was silent for a moment. "He might have been," she said at last. "He had a bag with bandages and things and he gave me something for the pain and took the bullet out, then fixed it up."

Naomi nodded. "Thank you. Can- can you keep it quiet for a bit? I'm not sure how long I'll be with the group but if they think I'm vulnerable - and my bike. I'm a walking target for them."