Buck:
I jogged through the forest, dead leaves and branches crunching underfoot. I pushed through the shrubbery, always eyeing the tree line for movement. The edge of the city drew nearer, but it was no sanctuary, just better than wandering aimlessly. Anyway, I had made this voyage many times and always found some kind of food that no one else had discovered. Sometimes, I was even lucky enough to find a berry bush that hadn’t been infected yet.
Even though I knew this route and its intricacies, I never let my guard down. Brothers and friends had been foolish enough to assume that others would not mean them harm — even in this world, where we had to fight for every scrap. The fact that I hadn’t seen anyone in weeks did not put my mind at ease; raiders often hid among the ruins of old cars and buildings, patiently waiting for a sickly wanderer to take a wrong turn. The scavengers were cunning, ruthless, and cruel. They felt no pity, just a remorseless hunger.
I was happy I had not been born into that life, the life of a merciless killer. But I cannot say I was happy to have been born into the life I lived, either. The world was harsh and unforgiving. The weak did not make it, but even the strong were at risk from fellow travelers. The world had become a free-for-all, every man out for himself, only himself.
As I neared the outskirts of town, I climbed up a hill and looked around below. The fog was dense today, but the sun began poking through the layer of clouds that seemed to stick to the city. I listened tentatively, aware that in a world of complete silence, a small noise echoed like a gunshot. Hearing nothing, I made my way into the city. With each step I scanned the windows of the houses and offices, searching for a color out of place, a shadow where there should be none.
Wandering down a dirt road, I found myself in a cul-de-sac full of rusted cars and dilapidated houses. I realized this was a part of the city I had yet to explore, and it was actually quite beautiful. Flowers bloomed, a sight I hadn’t seen in months. I pressed my face towards the brightly colored petals, inhaling deeply.
I turned away from the plants and explored a different path, still feeling unusually safe. I couldn’t pinpoint what put my nerves at ease, but I felt a deep joy wandering around this neighborhood. It was as if this bit of land had somehow escaped the horrors of the rest of the world. What took over me I do not know, but I began prancing about, racing from one house to the next, feeling truly alive. It was as if all the worries and fears that had plagued me for years suddenly disappeared, and I was free.
Tom:
The Geiger counter read 3,448 mSv, a dangerously high level of radiation, much higher than most other parts of the city. My stomach was seized by cramps, and sweat chilled the skin under my clothes, sure signs of radiation poisoning. But I figured anything below the threshold of instant death was fine.
I sighed heavily, lifting my eyes to survey the remains of the supermarket. The windows were blanketed with thick layers of dust and grime. I exhaled once more, the gas mask clamped on my face transforming my breath into a monstrous gargle. I scanned the decrepit building one last time but came to the conclusion that the risk of entering outweighed any reward that could be inside. That grizzly in the kitchen of the restaurant on 6th Street had made me more cautious; I’d been lucky to escape with a gash running down my leg and a permanent limp. I still had enough supplies to last another week or so; no need to be brave here.
Deciding to move on from the market, I returned the Geiger counter to my backpack and swung my hunting rifle off my shoulder and into my hands. I trudged back up the side road to the main street, eyeing the horizon. There was no movement, no sound. The birds had ceased their chirping long ago. The cars that once flooded the roads sat empty, their occupants robbed, killed, maybe eaten.
A few scraggly plants somehow peeked through the soil. Everything else alive had left the area in search of a more hospitable environment. Good luck to them, I thought. I knew this was the only city for hundreds of miles, and at least I had shelter. But like any oasis, this could be a mirage, drawing in survivors and then quickly giving them up to the buzzards. For all I knew, I was only the person still alive in the Greenfield area. Hell, I might’ve been the only person left on the planet. That was fine with me. I had survived.
I meandered along the pothole-ridden street. A tin can slowly rolled into my path. With a kick, I sent the can sailing high and over a nearby yard, far enough away I couldn’t hear it land. “Field goal,” I whispered to myself, but the words were distorted by the mask.
Buck:
Without warning I heard the clatter of metal on concrete, a noise unlike any I’d heard in months. I sprinted through a hole in a nearby fence and hid in the bushes. Most of the animals that survived had a distinct, pungent odor about them but I could smell nothing. I kept my eyes locked on the road and waited. After a few moments, the bush gave way under my weight, exposing my hiding place. A high wall blocked my retreat to the rear; the only way out of here was the gap in the fence which I’d entered. Assuring myself that I was in no danger, I moved towards the noise. A glint of light caught my eye. It was a tin can coming to rest in the road. I edged closer to it, looking it over carefully.
Tom:
Abruptly, from behind the house, I heard a loud rustling. I raised my gun towards the noise. A huge snout popped out from behind the wall. It inched cautiously towards the can, sniffing vigorously. Soon, the entire body was in view – a deer, its antlers crowning its head.
I marveled at the magnificent beast, its coat gleaming, untainted. I closed my left eye, focusing through my scope. The crosshair settled on the head of the creature. Loosening my mask so that I could take the shot, I realized too late that I was standing on a concrete walkway, not on the soil. My mask fell with a clatter that echoed through the streets. In complete silence, even the quietest of noises can sound like a gunshot.
Buck:
Something on the street drew my attention. I looked up, locking eyes with a man, his gun pointed directly at me. A gas mask lay on the ground next to him. I felt the sun beating down on me now, warming me all the way to my bones. I returned my attention back to the man. His left eye was closed shut, his right staring down the scope. I knew it was trained on me, but nothing in my body would allow me to move, to react and run away. The man’s finger vibrated on the trigger of the device; he was nervous. Panicking. Almost remorseful.
Tom:
The deer’s head snapped into place, staring straight at me, into my soul. I stared back into the black abysses that were his eyes, unflinching and unwavering. My finger fluttered on the trigger. This was the first animal I had seen that wasn’t covered in blood and scars, looking to kill whatever crossed its path. This deer was beautiful, graceful, my last reminder of what the world used to be like.
Buck:
I was furious, not because I had been fooled or surprised, but because the man was hesitating. End it, I yelled at him, Do it. He didn’t move. I realized I was ready to leave this world, to put all my suffering behind and move on. Why did he hesitate? My heart skipped a beat as the shot rang out, and my body immediately felt very, very cold.
Tom:
And even still, my finger squeezed the trigger. With a bang, all the memories of the past were erased, and hope for the future was extinguished.