Young Writers Society

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The DT:
Ashfall DT

This Storybook is still available to anyone who wishes to join; if you are interested, please PM me or ask in the DT.

First Post

Gale Wakeley

He stood on top of a hill; its gentle sides were undisturbed with a pale gray ash, strangely peaceful as it suffocated the dying grass beneath it. Flakes fell like a rain of petals, endless in their rampant and dusting his clothes and head with a white dust. One flake gently brushed his cheek as he ran his eyes over the almost unvaried landscape, apparently dispirited with what he didn't see, or rather, what he did. It wasn't exactly clear what he was searching for, but with a nook in his shoulder he turned and chugged back down the hill, dust cheerily rising high above his head as he followed his previous footsteps back down.

There, four other figures waited. They too were made stale by the ash, and a cloud surrounded them as two gave angry kicks at each other. One, who's large frame was even obvious from where Gale was, turned to them, silencing them with a look and a swear. The boy was already pale before this, but now the dust made him look alien, sick. His shaved head had the faintest hint of orange to it, and as Gale came closer he was reminded once again of Morgan's oily auburn eyes, as unpredictable as their depth, as they turned to him, expecting.

A scowl etched around those eyes, making Gale slightly nervous. "There's a small country house," Gale said, a barely noticeable tightening of his lips. "Besides that, nothing for miles."

The scowl crawled down Morgan's face, stretching his mouth into a handsome grin under the wet cloth. He turned swiftly around, sweeping his arms wide like a ringmaster presenting his best act. The others, who had resumed horse playing, turned to look upon him like domestic dogs to their owner.

"Well well well, boys," Morgan sang, the wet cloth over his mouth muffling his voice. "Looks like we found us another taker."

His sneer was contagious.



Gale flinched as Jacob, another figure of their small form of bandits, smacked the back door down with his bat, the wood cracking in on itself with a cry of anguish. They rushed into the room, Morgan choosing to be the last to enter and Gale reluctantly being the second. An old couple, old enough that dark purple veins crisscrossed their balding heads, moved with a cry to huddle on the worn red couch, their eyes darting with panic to each face behind their large framed glasses. The man, after a pause of clinging to his wife, took the courage to shout, "What is the meaning of this? Get out before I-"

Air hissed out of Gales' lungs as Jacob swung his bat, the tip crashing and breaking into the wall barely a foot from the old man's head, bits crumpling down onto the old couple's clothes. The woman screamed, her spidery hand gripping the fabric over her heart and gasps heaving out of her tired lungs. The old man had thrown his body over his wife, but he was shivering. Jacob turned to seek praise from Morgan, who outright laughed, pointing. Soon, the small living room was filled with laughter and sobs.

Abruptly Morgan's laughter subsided, him turning to Gale as the other's laughter, more slowly and nervously, teetered out. A tweaking of Morgan's lips was still there, and with a wave of the gun gesturing towards the rest of the house, he said, "Go look for food."

Gale nodded, and with a glance towards the couch, darted off. He knew why it was only him that was leaving to look, and not the others. This knowledge weighted on his shoulders, pulled down his head, and put pressure between his eyes where he knew they were knotting. Whispers of doubts tickled his ears, but he tiredly pushed them away.

The kitchen wasn't hard to find; nearly the biggest room in the house. Quickly, trying to make as much noise as possible to distract his hearing, he searched the cabinets with a fervor. There were stacks of food; enough to feed the whole group for weeks. This revelation came with a bitter sweetness, and Gale slowly turned to walk back to the living room, each step heavier than the last.

When he came back, the worn red couch was empty.

Henrietta "Henri" Jones

Henri dropped to her knees in front of the dead squirrel still twitching in front of her. She'd been stalking it for what felt like hours and even when she did get close enough to bash it with her cane, the little thing still found the energy to scurry away and the chase was on again. Finally the rodent died, and she couldn't have been happier, but for some reason she couldn't stop the tears running down her face. She'd never killed anything before, but even though she had a fair amount of food back at the shelter, the decreasing number of cans worried her.

Her chest heaved up and down as she tried to catch her breath and stop her tears. Her heart was beating furiously and she felt dizzy from the exertion. With shaky hands, she pulled out a pill bottle from her pocket and swallowed two. She couldn't afford to pass out, not here in the middle of the street. She knew there were bad people around, those that would take too much fun from stealing her resources and leaving her to die, and wasn't too eager to meet them. After a few deep, calming breaths, she stood up and took the dead squirrel with her.

---

She could have found a better shelter. Living in the city was too dangerous, it was best to go out into the country and rural lands outside, but she couldn't afford to be so far away. For now Henri was holed up in the house she grew up in, on the end corner of a line of identical houses. Everything was covered with ash, even more so because it piled up on the roofs and various structures around her neighborhood. She needed to get out of the place, and soon, but she didn't have anywhere else to go. Plus, her house had food - canned food - and some of the houses around her still had food too. So it was good, for now anyway.

Henri stumbled through the door and headed straight for the kitchen, which all the furniture had been cleared out of and used to fuel the fire that was made in the pit in the middle of the floor. She knelt down and lit the charred legs of her last kitchen stool with a lighter. The fuel was going to run out of it soon so she needed to figure out how to make a fire using natural ingredients. The thought of all the things she didn't know how to do made her shoulders sag and head drop. With a sigh she grabbed the squirrel and tried to skin it without thinking about it too much. Once that was done, and not without a fair share of tears, she put it on a makeshift spit above the fire. Once that was done she made a fresh face mask out of a damp washcloth and string, and headed back out into the world.

She tried to go out and scavenge every day, and she never returned home without something that would be of use to her. Today she ventured out farther from her home for the first time, edging towards the edge of town. She stood at the end of a street and looked out towards the endless ash covered landscape. She didn't want to go out there, it was too arcane and scary, but she knew that would be her fate one day.

"But not today," she whispered to herself.

With a defeated sigh she readjusted the strings on her backpack and turned around. She was on her way back home when she spotted a figure in the distance. They were far off enough that she didn't have to worry about them just yet, but she hurried back anyway. She smelled home before she saw it, the scent of the cooking squirrel made her mouth water, and she sped up her pace. The only thing she was able to bring back from her trip was a box of nails she swiped from a mostly empty hardware store. For safety, she laid out the nails in front of the doors and windows just in case anyone tried to sneak in, and settled down with her food.

Miles Henry Preston



Miles looked at the sky, then back at his notebook, tapping his pen against it thoughtfully. He was sitting on an ashed-covered hill, grey, the color just like the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and ash floated in the air lazily, as if not finding the perfect spot to land. Not that it mattered, seeing as everything for miles was covered in several feet of the stuff.Down the hill sat a neighborhood.

Miles began writing, something he had, and always would love doing. since the "Ash Smash" as he had coined it, hit, he had begun to write down his daily life.


I don't know what day it is. . . how can you with sky dark half the time? I think it's early afternoon. I feel starving, and am about to head out to look through this neighborhood. It looks deserted. Signing out,
Miles

He stood and shoved his notebook and pen into his gray backpack and hung it on his back. He'd never cared for the color grey although he didn't dislike it, but now everything was grey. He sighed. The color made everything seem depressing, dark, hopeless.

"Stop sitting here," he muttered to himself, readjusting his makeshift face mask. He had poured water on it a few minutes before, allowing him to breathe much easier and deeper.

He began to walk down the slope, his stomach aching like a dark empty hole; the empty part was as true as you could get. He hadn't eaten in nearly two days, and the effects were starting to show. He didn't have much energy, and he felt exhausted after running for just a few minutes, something that would have never happened before; he was always fit. He ran his hands through his brown hair as he reached the bottom of the hill.

The neighborhood looked pretty new, although most of the houses had collapsed under the enormous weight of the ash. When it rained the ash would to turn to a concrete-like mixture, making it a nightmare to walk through, and twice as heavy on structures. The new-looking subdivisions were bent over at strange angles, the frames bent and twisted like roots, the walls buried underneath small hills of ash,and the insides wide open, covered in grey powder.

Miles sloshed down where he believed the streets had used to been, and here and there he could spot the tippy-tops of mailboxes sticking out as if struggling to breathe. Miles shuddered, thinking of any human that might've been suffocated by the sudden explosion of ash. He knew there were plenty of deaths that had been a direct result of the monstrosity of the storm.

Miles turned right and found a street with a few houses still standing. He headed for the nearest one, cautiously looking around for other survivors who might not be welcoming. He approached the front door and slowly opened it, pulling his sword from his back-strap he had made out of string from a garage.

He stepped into the hallway, which was powdered with ash. He took a step into it, glancing around at his surroundings, trying to catch every detail. In survival you learned quick or died.

Dining room to the left. looks empty except for the table and chairs. Straight ahead a door to the right and an open space. A family room?

He shut the door behind him and approached. He approached the door on the right, glancing back once to make sure he was alone. He clasped the cold knob, heart beating - he hadn't run into anyone so far; what if there was a dangerous person in here, or a body- and tensed. He took a deep breathe, held his sword pointed at the door, stepped back a little to give himself room to run, and-

a creak behind him made him twirl, and his heart nearly stopped eating. All he saw was a bit of ash float lazily to the floor. Bewildered he glanced up. A part of the roof had partially caved through, and the ash was now freely coming through in a trickle. Then Miles heard the groan of the house.

The roof is sagging!

The ceiling right above him began to slowly rip apart, Drywall began to break off in small clumps. Miles sheathed his sword in one fluid motion, something that took him three weeks to do successfully on a regular basis, and he still had a hard time at it.

He was just about to run to the door when the ceiling there gave way. A flood of ash plumped down silently except for a whomp, and Miles turned the other way, heart racing, sweat trickling down his forehead. He dashed into a family room, completely untouched by ash as of yet. Miles looked around. A small kitchen sat to the right, and a sliding door past it to a patio and small yard.

The roof groaned and more ash began to fall from holes in the ceiling as it broke apart under the weight. Miles ran to the kitchen and grabbed the sliding door handle. He yanked it but it didn't budge.

What in the world? Oh, the lock!

The entry hallway collapsed in full, and the rest of the house began to collapse due to the missing walls and ash. Miles flicked up the little lack and yanked the door. It still didn't budge. Miles pulled again as the house took one last tremendous yawn and began to fully crashed down. The door slid open wildly and Miles hurled himself face-first out of the door.

He landed on the ash, and thankfully it cushioned the fall. The house seemed to explode as the frame cracked, and the house sank to the ground with a tremendous crash. The walls caved outwards towards Miles. He picked himself to his feet and took again, just barely missing the wall, and tripping because of the thickness of the ash.

He looked back at the house as the ash mushroom-clouded into the air, and then rained down on him, carrying bits of drywall, timber, and small bits of shingles. Miles grunted as the debris hit him, covering his face with his backpack, trying to breathe.

Finally the ash subsided, and Miles stood, hacking and sputtering the ash out of his mouth. He ripped off the mask, and thrust it to the ground. It was useless now. He continued coughing, but opened his backpack and pulled a shirt he had found in an abandoned house. He wrapped it over his mouth hastily, and breathed the somewhat-fresh air.

I am not going in any more of those houses. Man alive that was close! Well . . . at least I am alive.

He began walking again. The day was early, and he had to find food. That's when he smelled the smoke.

Evalynne

The house was silent as Jaxon and I crept from room to room, scouting to see if there was anyone left to occupy it. I stayed behind my brother, holding my breath as he turned every corner. He held the gun low, pointing it towards the ground but always ready to fire if needed. The lights were out, making it hard to see where I was going. I followed my brother's broad shoulders, stepping over trash as we made our way through the house.

It was obvious no one lived here--and hadn't for a long time--but we always had to make sure there weren't any other scavengers raiding the place. The few people remaining would do anything to get their hands on whatever goods were left over from the world before the apocalypse.

"I think the house is clear," Jaxon whispered, turning his head slightly so that I could hear him. I touched his shoulder lightly to tell him that I understood, but didn't make a move to go anywhere. We stood still for a moment, holding our breaths and listening for any signs of someone who might be following us.

When Jaxon deemed everything alright, I pulled a small flashlight out of my pocket, flipping it on and shining it in front of us. The dim light didn't do much to help us see in the darkness, and the ash that floated in the air around us--stirred up by our feet, no doubt--did nothing to help.

"Alright, you know the drill," my brother breathed out, nodding for me to start looking.

"Right, anything that might be helpful," I intoned, rolling my eyes as I moved farther into what looked like the bedroom. I swept the light around, looking for anything that might be useful to us, but not finding anything more than torn paper and dirty clothes. I moved to the bedside table, swiftly sliding the drawer open and shining the dim light inside. I did a mental dance as I retrieved a half a pack of cigarettes, turning to my brother and tossing them in his direction. He caught them with a smirk, tucking them away into his pocket.

It took me about ten minutes to search the first room--closets and dressers included. I was halfway through the second room when I was ready to give up. The only thing I had found so far was old newspapers, broken glass, and more dirty clothes, scattered as if someone had been in the house tossing things around and looking for what we couldn't find.

"Find anything else?" Jaxon asked, standing in the doorway, his back to me as he guarded the room.

"No, I think someone's al--" the sound of the front door squeaking open caused my blood to run cold and Jaxon to stand at attention. He raised the gun and moved forward towards the front of the house, motioning for me to stay where I was. I flicked the light off and jogged after him, not feeling safe by myself.

As we turned the corner, whoever had entered the house came nose to nose with Jaxon's gun, taking all of us off guard and causing my heart to stop.

Another ghost town, another fresh layer of ash to kick up when you so much as breathed.

Marco's hands rested on his knees, bent over, heaving up dry gags as fresh dust floated around him. After a moment of painful coughing, his hands slowly moved to clutch his chest and he straightened up. His mouth was dry and tasted like dirt, but that was nothing new. It's all he had tasted in a while.

"Are you okay?"

Marco spun around, instantly on guard. A small girl that looks no younger than five stood behind him, her blonde hair coated in soot so thick that it looked like she hasn't washed in months. Which she probably hadn't.

"What do you want?" Marco snapped, then coughed harder.

"D-do you want some water?" she squeaked.

"No, I don't want your goddamn water. Now go find mommy and tell her I have nothing of value to her." Marco spat.

The girl opened her lips and he stomped forward, hand raised, ready to slap her. She screamed and scurried down the hill, where her parents stepped out from behind a car and hugged her.

The mother met Marco's gaze and he gave her a look of pure disgust before turning and making his way out of that town, and down to the next.



Two towns later and he found what he wanted. An abandoned house with a cellar full of alcohol. The first thing he did was rip off the cork and down a whole bottle on the spot, before slapping himself for doing so. After a quick inventory check, he noted that there was 14 bottles of various types and brands, all strong enough to get him drunk off of one bottle.

He carefully packed them into a bag he found in the last town, then hid them beneath some boxes. Once that was done, he staggered back inside and searched for a bathroom, pausing to throw his cigarettes in a drawer.

The toilet didn't work but he could've cared less, doing what he had to do, then wiping his hands on his dirty jeans. He was just about to go down to the cellar and foolishly crack open another bottle when he heard commotion inside the bedroom.

Crookedly, he walked over and pushed the door open, then came face to face with a gun. He dimly registered a frightened pair of kids, with the boy holding the weapon and the girl hiding behind him.

Marco slowly ran his gaze over the girl with no interest other than how low cut her top was, then moved to see a box of cigarettes in the boy's pocket. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Those. Are. Mine." He hissed, then quickly knocked the gun out of the boy's hands.

The girl screamed as Marco pinned her friend against the wall, a large hand crushing his windpipe. "Give it to me."

Evalynne

Things moved so quickly that I wasn't sure what had happened until Jaxon was against the wall and being pinned down. My brother is big, and even taken by surprise he's hard to take down, but this guy--this stranger looked as if he had no trouble taking him on. He wasn't much bigger than Jaxon, but he had tattoos marking his skin in a way that would make anyone else seem strange. But he could pull it off somehow.

I was frozen, unsure what to do as I watched the guy reach into my brother's pocket and snatch the cigarettes that I had pulled out of the bedside table. My heart had stopped beating, and my imagination was running wild with the thoughts of what this guy might do to us. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until my lungs began to scream for oxygen.

My legs wanted to run, every part of me wanted to flee, but I knew I couldn't leave without my brother. We had talked about it before, that if anything were to happen and he couldn't keep me safe then I should run. And I was seriously wondering if I could make it to the front door right about then. Maybe if I could find something hard enough, I could knock this guy out and Jaxon and I could get our shit and get out of there before he woke up.

My feet moved on their own accord, taking me backward one slow step at a time. I wasn't sure who this stranger was, or what state of mind he might be in, but from the purple look on my brother's face, he wasn't against killing a man for a half a pack a cigarettes--not even a full pack, mind you.

Without a second thought, I turned and bolted away from them, my eyes automatically looking for something my hands could turn into a weapon.

Miles


Miles sniffed what he could through his new mask.

Smoke? Food? Someone is living around here?

Miles nearly tore out towards where he could now spot smoke rising from the sky a few houses down the road. Then he stopped himself. There could be someone not so happy to have a visitor; especially one who wanted food.

Com on bro, you aren't like everybody else. You might share food, but not everybody is quite so generous, Miles mentally told himself. He had always been the kind person, wanting to help others. He needed to quit that now. It was dog eat dog, and not much sharing was involved. He would maybe have to kill and he needed to realize that.

Stop! what are you thinking. Kill? Not unless it's absolutely possible. You can't become a killer. That's the type of people you've been trying to stay away from. Miles had been considering if he could even kill someone threatening him. He believed so, but the thought made him shudder. Kill a human being? Take someone's life? They wanted to stay alive just as much as he did.

The battle raged in his head, and it felt as someone was slowing blowing a balloon inside. He shook his head, drew his sword and began to heads towards where the smoke had been. but it was nowhere to been seen. Someone had apparently put it out.

Have they seen me? Come one Miles, this is your test. If you can't face another human being than how do you expect to survive?

"Alright, let's do this."

He gripped his sword tightly and prepared to walk towards the house he had now pinpointed as where the smoke had emitted from. He still hesitated. Then his stomach growled. He had to get food. He took a step forward.

Henrietta Jones

The squirrel tasted better than Henri thought it would, much better than all the canned foods she had saved up, but she wasn't complaining. It was just nice to have something meaty for once, even if she had to close her eyes and not think about what she was actually eating when she bit into it. She finished nearly half of it, but stored the rest away for later that night. The rations she put herself on were meager, and that was putting it nicely. She should be eating more, especially with her condition, but she didn't know how long the ash fall would last, or how long it would be until help came - if help was coming at all. She had absolutely no intentions on venturing out further into the world on her own, or at all really.

Henri leaned her back against the wall and sighed. She hated thinking about the future. She knew her chances of survival were slim, and even though she tried to avoid thinking about it, she knew that if she went living like this for too long she would die. Henri sighed again and put her head in her hands. She'd just made up her mind to eat the rest of the squirrel now and hunt for another later - it was just so good - when a loud crash shocked her into action.

She sprung up from her spot on the floor and clutched her cane close to her chest.

'What the heck? Did something just... fall?'

She proceeded carefully to the front door, stepping over the lay out of long nails as she went outside to discover the source of the noise. She discovered a fallen house, from the looks of the mailbox still standing on the edge of the curb, it belonged to The Millers. She'd already took everything of interest from there, so there was really nothing lost, but the roof caving in made her only realize how desperately she needed to leave her own home. It would only be a matter of time before her house caved, and if she was inside while it did then her fate would be sealed. With that thought in mind she hurried home.

--

As she she approached her house she noticed strange footprints in the ash. They weren't the same type of pattern as the bottom of her boots, and led straight to her front door. Immediately, her heart sank into her stomach.

'Somebody's inside,' she thought as her heart beat grew quicker. 'Probably bandits. Oh god, I knew this was going to happen! I knew it.'

She grew dizzy as she approached her front door. The nails she'd laid down in front for security had been scattered. She gulped down a scream as she stepped carefully onto the carpet, trying to keep the noise low. She heard someone in the kitchen and lost all resolve. She didn't want to be found out. She didn't want to die and that's exactly what would happen if the bandits saw her.

With a small sob she turned around and started for the door again. She'd just have to start over from scratch. Move out of the suburbs, find some food and water, anything. But she couldn't stay here anymore.

"Hey!"

Henrietta jumped at the noise and started to run for the door, but was caught from behind.

"Hey, wait!"

"Leave me alone," she cried. "You can have the food I don't care just leave me alone, please!"

Miles

Miles had just entered the house after nearly filling his feet full of holes from the nails all over the doorway. He went straight to the kitchen hoping to find something, only to see nothing in it except for a small fire pit that had been made in it. Small rings of smoke still floated into the air, and then out a small hole that was in the roof.

He knelt was about to leave when he heard someone in thee hallway. He dashed over to it and spotted a girl -probably about eighteen- trying to sneak out of the house.

"Hey!" he shouted. It looked like she wasn't a threat.

She turned and tried to get out the door.

"Hey, wait!" Miles shouted again, grabbing her arm.

"Leave me alone," she cried. "You can have the food I don't care just leave me alone, please!"

The girl turned, her long hair flying all over her face. She looked terrified. She tried to raise a cane from her from her free arm, but Miles let go of he and stepped back, dropping his sword. He knew it was a risky maneuver, but he girl looked . . . sick.

He stepped back and the girl looked confused, wiping a strand of her from her face. She said nothing, but didn't move the cane from its raised position. Miles spoke gently.

"Hey, calm down. I'm not here to hurt you . . . put the cane down."

She hesitated, lip quivering. In that look of fear and confusion, Miles knew that she needed help. Suddenly she began to sway back and forth, dropping the cane and trying to steady herself with hr arms. Miles rushed forward and caught her, just as she began to topple forward.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, not sure that it was.

"Pills . . . I need the pills." She motioned to her jacket pocket.

Miles reached in and pulled out a small bottle with whit pills inside. He popped it open and dropped a few in her hand, then pulled his water bottle out of his backpack. He helped her swallow them, and then helped her into the kitchen, letting her slide down to the floor and lean against a counter.

The girl breathed deeply and seemed to feel better after a few minutes. Miles sheathed his sword and pulled it, along with his backpack, off his back. He sat cross-legged across the room from her, not quit sure what to do.

"Thanks." the girl said quietly after a few minutes.

Miles smiled. "No problem . . . but what happened?"

"Anemia," she replied.

Miles didn't know how to respond so he just sat there. "Good thing I found you isn't it?"

Th girl nodded. "Yeah. You scared me."

Miles couldn't resist a smile. "Sorry, I'm just starving. I smelled your cooking and came searching. But you know this house isn't gonna stand for much longer?"

Th girl nodded, pulling her green jacket tighter as if it would protect her from and collapse. "Yeah, I saw the house."

"So, my name's Miles. What's yours?"

"Henri."

Miles stood and looked around until he spotted a can with some meat in it. He picked the can up. "Hungry?"

She nodded, and he handed her the meat, and then looked at the few cans of food left on the ground. He was starving, but didn't feel like it was right to ask. Food was something very precious around here, and Henri looked like she needed the food more.

he turned to sit down, but she said "help yourself."

He smiled, thanked her, grabbed a can of corn, cut it open with his sword, and began to drink it out. The food was indescribably delicious,even though it was cold corn. Cold corn! He gobbled half of it down in a minute, and then slowly munched on the rest.

"So," he said in between mouthfuls, "what's your story?"

Griff

Griff slowly walked down the rode, with Ashley at his heels. The australian shepard barked along with " boulevard of broken dreams" by Green Day, one of Griffs favorite bands. Griff smiled as he finished the songs. He frowned as Ashley rolled around in... the ash. "Ash, dont do that girl". She barked and he couldnt help smiling. He put his guitar back in its case and took a drink of water. He glanced at his water purifier. He hadnt used it yet, but he was still worried. He grinned and got up. Hed cross that bridge and started walking again. He started talking to Ashley." Hey girl, do you think if I got my hands on a bow, I could be like a ninja or something?" The dog just cocked her head and stared at him." Now, im not a Katniss Everdeen or anything, but im pretty good." He had spent most of his life in the mountains, so he knew how to handle ayt type of hunting weapon. Bow, crossbow, and rifle. Use it on a human? Hells no he couldnt. He stopped as they crested a hill
He smiled at his dog."" Hey Ash, a town! Maybe we can find my katniss everdeen bow, and you can get a proper meal!" He stared forward eagerly, relieved at finally reaching civilization.

Vin Deayer

Vin walked down the street, ash blooming around his shoes. It had been another day of fruitless searching. He hasn't found Lillie, or his Mom, or his stepdad, only corpses, and none of them from his family.the first corpse had been the worst. The rest were just dust in his mind. He knew he shouldn't forget, but he couldn't help it. After all, he didn't care.

He stopped and looked up and down the street. He needed food. He knew that there was a convenience store at the end o the road, but he also knew that it would already have been ransacked. The doors of the houses around him were swinging on their hinges, or just not there at all. He frowned and took another look, then another.

There was a tiny alleyway, only just big enough for him to go down, that seemed to lead to somewhere. He stared at it for a few seconds, then squared his shoulders and started down it, making sure he had a good hold on his bag. He wouldn't have taken this risk if he had had Lillie with him, wouldn't have left her alone.

The door was still shut, with the key in the lock. It wasn't normal. The person could've died whilst opening the door, but there was no corpse, or it could be a trap. Either way, he had to try. He reached out and opened the door, pocketing the key as he stepped hesitantly into the room.

Surprisingly, no one jumped him as soon as he stepped in. He flicked the light switch next to the door, just for the want of trying. No lekky here either. There were only one or two windows in the room, and the dull light shone on instruments. It was a music shop.

Shops had apartments above them, and apartments had food. He quickly looked around and found the door to the stairs. In the kitchen there was enough food to feed him for a week. He smiled. Luck was finally on his side.

Andraya

I hadn’t had the heart to leave my town. I just couldn’t. I did on the first day. I left and walked away. But as the sun began to set, I ran back. I buried every dead body I came across – which wasn’t much because most were buried – and held a small ceremony for them all. Though I didn’t know any one of the people personally, I knew who they were.
I buried Jet’s football coach and his family. I buried the local vet, and her daughter. I buried our neighbours, and my Mum’s best friend. I also buried lots of dogs and cats. Who knew there’d be as many dogs and cats in a neighbourhood of America as there would in Australia. I mean, ninety per cent of Australia’s population have pets. Guess I didn’t quite expect so many animals here as well.
At the end of my third day, I trudge back to my shell of a house, and dig around. I haven’t been here since I left, so I decided to return, and see if I can find anything else helpful. And so far, I haven’t spotted them.
I find Dad’s old hunting knife under a fallen over cupboard in Mum’s room. Dad used to go out shooting with his friends some weekends. I never went because I couldn’t stand to see an animal die when we had all the food we needed, but I appreciated the kangaroo or emu meat he brought home for us to have for dinner. That was the way it was at home. Most fathers were either loggers (people that do tree lopping) or miners. But my dad went out hunting. Not many people did it in my home town. And there wasn’t really anywhere for him to hunt, so he’d go away for the weekend, probably up to Bunbury, in the Ferguson Valley. He’d always take his knife with him.
A small tear rolls down my cheek, and I wipe it away angrily. I scratch through the ash and debris and pull up the sheathe for the knife. I attach the sheathe to my ratty belt and put in the knife. My Dad taught me how to use a knife, but he’d never let me touch his. Said it was stained with too much blood.
I smile at the memory of me, at eight, asking if I could use it.
“No, Kitty,” Dad said. “It’s dirty. Got too much blood on it.”
“But daddy!” I wailed. “It’s clean and shiny!”
“Andraya, just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. That’s the way things work in this world. What you don’t see haunts you,” Dad said solemnly, bending down to look me in the eye.
“Jake, don’t say that to your daughter,” Mum growled, walking into the kitchen.
I shake my head to clear it. But now, without looking, I can see the blood. It wasn’t just animal blood stained on the blade, but human blood too. Dad said the knife is old, once. Said his great-grandfather bought it when he was young. Said he was arrested for murder, but the cops never found the weapon.
I shiver, and wish to get rid of the knife, but refrain from ripping it off. I could use it, and I know I’ll need it. I have to put my superstitions aside, and focus on my survival.
The sun begins to set, so I find a clean space under the stairs of my house, and put my pack down. I ignore the rumbling pain in my stomach and lie down, resting my head on the pack. I close my eyes to go to sleep.

The next day, I wake up and go outside to find more ash covering the streets and houses. I look around to assess the place, and I know I have to leave. I pack everything that will help me – a blanket and what little food I can find – and start walking down the road, away from my home. I glance over my shoulder one last time, and something catches my eye.
"Oh my god, Mum!" I scream.
I drop my bag and sprint back down the road. I run into the house and start pulling stuff up, searching and searching. I start coughing, so I cover my mouth with some clean cloth in my pocket, and continue digging.
I realise I'm in the kitchen. I find the remains of the kitchen table, and find an arm, buried in the ash. I keep digging, and find the bodies of Jack and Aaron. I fall back and burst into loud tears. I sit there, sobbing for a while, until I snap out of it and carry each small and ash-covered body outside. I then go back in to search for Jet and Mum.
After two hours of digging, I find Mum's body, but still not Jet's. Maybe he escaped? I sure hope so. But if he has, where would he be? Where could he have gone? I don't know what to make of this, but I power on regardless.
My mind becomes blank as I dig the graves for my family. I dig three rectangular holes side by side. I place Mum in the biggest, Aaron in the middle one, and Jack in the smallest one, as delicately as I can. I then fill the holes with the dirt I've dug up, and sit in front of them for a while. I hug my knees to my chest and cry for what seems like hours.
"A headstone," I murmur suddenly, my voice cracked and strained from crying. "There needs to be a headstone."
I get three planks of wood and carve the names of my family on one each for them, their date of birth, and the day I'm sure they died. I then hammer the planks of wood at the head of each appropriate grave, and then look around. after a moment's hesitation, I hang flowers – though most are dead or dying, good enough I suppose – over the planks of wood, and then step back.
With tears streaming down my face, I turn away from the graves, walk back to the messenger bag I'd left on the ground, and walk on, down the road. A small smile plays across my lips. I feel totally ashamed about myself for smiling, and then I realise why.
Jet is alive! He's alive. I know he is! If anyone could have survived this, it's my brother. And now, I can look for him. Now I have a real purpose to live through this!
"Jet!" I call the the sky. "I'm going to find you!"
And in response to my call, the sky rumbles.

Henrietta Jones

Henri couldn't help but to smile at the way Miles devoured the can of corn. It was wild and a bit barbaric the way he pried it open with the point of his sword, but also strangely endearing. Henri caught herself grinning as he slowed down in an attempt to savor the last bits of corn and juice.

"So," he said between mouthfuls, "what's your story?"

She frowned at him talking around his food but just shook her head.

"Nothing special, really. When the ash started falling my parents took me out of the hospital and we went home. They were starting to build a safe place for us, hence all the cans and the pit but they... um... they died about a week or so after everything went down."

"Oh... I'm sorry."

Henrietta smiled sadly and picked at a loose thread on her jacket sleeve.

"It's fine. I'm over it."

Her eyes flickered over to the container that held the last of the squirrel, and even though her mouth watered for it, she got up and handed it to Miles.

"Here," she said. "Trust me, it's far tastier than corn."

He looked apprehensive, but took it anyway. She watched as his eyes lit up at the first bite and felt happiness swell inside of her. She hadn't felt this good in such a long time. She hadn't really talked to or been around anyone since her parents had died. Many of her neighbors had come around just as they were leaving town, offering to take her in, but she'd declined every invitation. And that was so long ago already. It was nice to have some other company around, even if he still frightened her just a bit. She couldn't keep her eyes from darting towards that sword at his side - it would definitely beat her little walking cane.

She shook the thought out of her head though. For some reason, she trusted Miles.

"I'm going to start packing up," she announced as she went to grab her backpack from the corner. "I don't think it's safe to stay here anymore."

As if to accent her worry, the roof gave a low groan and bits of plaster and dust rained from the ceiling. Henri froze briefly before darting around the kitchen, shoving as much food and supplies as she could into her backpack. Everything had been situated in this one area, all the things she'd collected, so it made it easy to just grab and go.

"Take this."

She took an empty backpack, her father's, and tossed it towards Miles.

"Anything important," she panted, already growing dizzy from the exertion. "We've got to move."

Evalynne

My heart was racing as I scavenged the floor for something to use as a weapon--preferably a long metal pipe or piece of wood, but really, who keeps a spare metal pipe laying around their house? I could hear my brother struggling, coughing up curses as he struggled to fight back. I knew I had to do something, and fast or else someone was going to get hurt.

In my rush to help Jaxon, I managed to trip and fall, my knees skidding across the cold linoleum floor. I almost screamed in excitement when my eyes landed on the very object that tripped me: a broken table. Two of the legs had been broken and one was completely gone while the other looked like it had been kicked in by a frustrated football player. I mentally thanked whoever had taken their anger out on the ugly wooden table as I hauled myself up off the floor.

I could hear punches being thrown and curses being yelled, but I wasn't sure who was doing the punching and who was doing the cursing. Jaxon wasn't going to take any crap from anyone, I knew that much, but from the look of the stranger, he wouldn't either. As I ripped the wooden leg from the table, I couldn't help but think of how great it would be to have someone like him on our side.

I rounded the corner again, hurrying back to where the fight was occurring. Jaxon and the stranger were tangled together, both trying to overpower the other. I raised the table leg, preparing to hit someone with it, but the two of them were so close that I was sure if I swung I would probably hit both of them. Biting my lip, I closed my eyes and swung anyway. I felt it connect, heard the cursing, and when I opened my eyes, I saw that all I had managed to do was hit the stranger in the side. Well, I was a bad aim, that much was obvious.