Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26268104-20170624213913

It was the middle of the fourth winter since the bombs exploded. I was crouching behind a barrier of wood, wondering, why didn’t I do it earlier? Why is it that only now I know what needs to be done? So many innocents have died, not because of what I did, but because of what I didn’t do. I take a deep breath and try to think, how did it come to this?

I was only slightly younger when my problems began. Mere days ago, I had no aim in my life. The snow shifted below my feet as I walked in a direction, although I didn’t know where I was going and didn’t care. The only thing on my mind was finding a can of food. I hadn’t had anything to eat since those pre-drained chick peas yesterday morning, and one could tell just from looking at me. Even though you couldn’t see most of me through all the clothes and the balaclava I was wearing, there were dark circles under my eyes.

Not that there was any improvement anywhere else on my body. My hands were bloodied from fights and cracked from the freezing winter. My eyes were droopy from scarcity of sleep, and despite the cold weather, sweat with a disgusting odor dribbled out of my torso, as I had worn four shirts, a backpack, and a jacket for weeks on end. Like on many other occasions throughout these long four years, I longed for a bath or shower.

My fantasies over baths were interrupted when, I noticed that the land was starting to curve downward. Although it was hard to see through the mist created by the snow, I could make out two structures. The one closer to me looked like a shack-made of bricks, with a wooden roof. Not too surprising-it had been two miles since I’ve seen anything resembling a house, as I was away from any remains of any town or city. I thought, perhaps I could spend the night in that shack and find food tomorrow. After all, the sun would be going down soon and I was exhausted. But the next structure made me forget about the shack right away.

A bit further away, on top of the next hill, there was a wall. Although I couldn’t tell what the exact shape was due to distance, it seemed to form a cylinder. As I squinted at it, I noticed something else-the materials. The wall wasn’t made of just brick or wood or concrete, but almost every material you could think of. It was as though it was made with whatever the builders could find. This would have never been acceptable if this was made before the bombs exploded and civilizations around the world collapsed. That must have meant the walls were made to protect something from the climate change caused by the bombs. Could it be a settlement?

That possibility made my pulse begin to increased, from a mixture of excitement and worry. If those walls were to protect a settlement, maybe they could accept me in, I could become a member, find a way to help them, and I could at last have a purpose again. However, if this settlement was occupied by bandits, I would have to fight for my life-again.

I took a deep breath, got on my knees, and began to crawl through the snow, pushing some onto my back as I wormed my way down the hill and past the shack. If these were bandits, blending in with the snow would help me avoid detection. Soon, I got to the next hill and was slowing climbing up it. I adjusted my balaclava so snow wouldn’t get caught in my shirt as I climbed up.

After what I think was a few minutes, I reached the base of the cylinder walls. I got up on one knee, then another, and slid along the walls. I put my head to a brick area and listened. I heard shuffling and scattered conversation. I moved along the walls more and more until just a few feet ahead of me, I saw that the walls had a hole. It was thin and tall, like it was trying to replicate the shape of a door. I slid just a little closer and peeked out very slowly, taking care to not stick my head out too far.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">That’s the first time I saw the insides of this settlement. There were two rows of short but wide igloos in either the left or right direction. I could make out silhouettes of people trudging about, but I couldn’t make out any features due to the snow. “Hello,” I called out. “Don’t shoot! I would like a little help.” In response, the silhouettes began to move. A few more came out of igloos and all of them began to walk toward me. They don’t have any weapons, I thought. Surely if they were bandits, they’d be attacking by now.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">By the time a few of the silhouettes got the start of the row of igloos, I could see enough features to separate the people nearest to me from one another. The closest one was a man. He stood straight up in a large, hooded coat. I could only see his face, which had a large mustache and eyes that squinted, studying me. To his left, there was a woman. She was wearing a backpack and a coat as well, but it was clearly for a man, as it looked too big for her. The sleeves were rolled up, presumably so she could use her arms. Her face was bony, and her eyes were wide with surprise. The others were still too far away to make out any features.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Well,” the man asked. “What do you want?”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“I…I would like a little help,” I responded.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“This isn’t charity. Do you want to trade,” the man asked.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“No,” I started. “I…”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Look,” the man interrupted, stepping forward a few steps. He turned around a gestured to the people behind him not to get involved. “If you want to stay here, get out. We only have enough food to feed everyone here for two years anyway.” I furrowed my brow. These 4 long years with no purpose other than “surviving,” and an opportunity at helping someone other than myself turned out to be false. I had to at least try to persuade him.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“The citizens of your settlement…” I started.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Hope, we call the settlement Hope,” the woman from the left said before the man gestured to her to stay out of the conversation. At this point several other people got close enough so I could see them. All of them were dressed in backpacks and coats-mostly ill-fitting ones-and most of them had empty hands, but a few had weapons. These ranged from makeshift swords to hammers to guns. Better handle this encounter more carefully, I thought.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“The citizens of Hope could vote. They could decide if I should be let in or not,” I said. The man gritted his teeth. He pressed the tips of his fingers to his temples as shut his eyes tight. My muscles began to contract. His choice could affect where I would be in 2 years, 5 years, a decade, or god forbid, for the rest of my life. After a minute, he slowly opened his eyes and moved his hands back to his sides.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Fine,” he said. “I generally make the decisions, but since everyone here thinks I’m too weak, I’ll let you guys vote.” He turned toward the crowd as he said this. Was he always like this, or just in a bad mood? I’ll never know given what happened next.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">The bullet came from the right, and entered through the man’s arm and into the side of his torso. My eyes widened and my pulse skyrocketed. I knew not to be out in the open, so I began to dash forward into the settlement, screaming as I did so. I didn’t even have time to notice that the man’s body fell right in front of me. I tripped over it and began to crawl as fast as I could, putting one arm in front of the other, then that arm in front of the first one, and so on. My head was just past the gate when it occurred to me to shove some snow onto my back as I wormed my way forward.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">As I practically swam through the snow, I thought of something-the igloo! I scrambled to my feet and noticed that there was one just a short distance away. Just as I had begun to run, a second bullet went off, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see it landed in someone. Turning my head as I ran toward an igloo, I saw it was one of the few people who had a gun. He got shot in the knee and blood stained his right pant leg. His gun laid right between me and him. Perhaps it had slid across the snow when he dropped it.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">The urge to continue fleeing to safety was powerful within me. It was right there, after all, and it was not clear when this shooter would run out of bullets. From the next shot, which came from above and fortunately didn’t hit anyone, I could tell the shooter was changing positions. It couldn’t have been multiple shooters, because the bullets all came one at a time and there was a gap in time between shots from different angles.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">I lowered my balaclava so I could breathe easily, took a deep breath, and began to run toward the wounded soldier. I put so much momentum into my running that it took effort to stop once I was next to him. I leaned down and let him grab my hand. Hopping on one leg, he made his way to his foot. “Thanks,” he whispered.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“No problem,” I responded. “Name?”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Martin,” he said.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Uh…” I couldn’t tell him that my name was Hillston Hugh. I’d have to make one up. “Bob. Bob Jones.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">He didn’t respond. Instead, Martin pointed toward one of the igloos. Yet another shot went off, and someone screamed as the gun went off-another potential causality. Me and Martin finally got to the nearest igloo’s entrance and we both got on the ground and tried to crawl in at the same time. From inside, someone said “It’s filled up!” The news made me begin to shake with fear, but that fear was nothing compared to the utter terror of what happened next.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">I heard a series of sounds coming from outside, but I couldn’t quite identify what they were, due to being separated by a wall that me and Martin were a considerable distance from. But as it got closer to Hope, I realized something-it was footsteps. I opened my mouth with the intent to explain that I had a wounded soldier and we could squeeze into the igloo, but that was interrupted by what was unmistakably the sound of gunfire, not from that hidden sniper, but from several others, shooting repeatedly at the walls with, because of the frequency and noise, what I could assume was a series of machine guns. Me and Martin ducked down into the snow, desperate to evade the many bullets coming through the walls.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">Finally, it stopped. I turned toward the walls. They were still holding, but were filled with holes. Taking advantage of the pause, I turned back to the soldiers in the igloo and said “I know it will be a tight squeeze, but I have a wounded soldier with me. The soldiers turned toward each other. They whispered to each other. During this moment, I patted Martin on the back. “It’s OK,” I said.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">My reassurance didn’t work, as from outside, a booming voice said “That…was a warning. Give us everything, or else we’ll burn you to the ground.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">At the same time this was said, the soldiers turned back toward us. “Fine,” one of them said. “You two can stay.” Me and Martin look toward each other with a smiled, and we both wormed our way inside. I was right about predicting this would be a tight squeeze. There was no space in the igloo where your shoulder or arm wouldn’t be rubbing against at least two other people.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">From the outside, the booming voice returned. “The outcome will be chosen by whoever your soldiers are. Army, you have 10 minutes to make a choice. Everyone else, stay inside, or we’ll fire.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Shit,” said a soldier opposite from me. “What to do? What to do?” The soldiers all looked at each other, hoping their neighbor would have a plan. I was breathing rapidly-this could indeed be the end. As I steadied my pulse, I tried to think if there was anything we could do. The same soldier whispered “If you have an idea, whisper. We don’t want them to know we already made a choice.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Are there any other soldiers in any other igloos,” I asked.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“No, we’re the only ones,” said Martin. By this point, he had practically been pushed to the other side of the room. Noting what he said, I surveyed the room. There were about 25, maybe 30 soldiers. No wonder there was a lack of space in here, despite how big the igloos were. The fear over the lack of numbers in this “army” encouraged me to think harder than ever for a solution. Then I remembered it.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Soldiers,” I whispered. They turned toward me. “I was out there for an extended period of time and wasn’t shot once. I was using a technique. It is…”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“I know what your, ahem, technique was.” A soldier shouted from somewhere in the crowd. “You’re with these people and lead them right to us. Now you’re trying to fake a strategy so we get out and all get captured! Nobody will defend Hope when they attack in…”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“2 minutes have passed. 8 minutes left,” said the booming voice.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">My hands were sweating and I was struggling to not grit my teeth. “Then why the…” I couldn’t swear; that would not help me make a case. “If that is true,” I started, trying to opt for a confident grin, “why would I help Martin when he got wounded?”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Just part of your act,” the soldier responded.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">Martin asked “Why do you think he’s with them?”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">The soldier responded “Because I don’t believe he just happened to come at the same time as those people.” Hearing those words, the soldiers all stared at me, as if every little movement I did would indicate if I was with the gang or not. I took a deep breath. My idea was very likely to put me in danger, but if I didn’t do it, these people would suspect and kill me.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“I will go out there.” I declared. The soldiers looked at me with intensity equivalent “I will run from one igloo to another and back to here. They will try to shoot me, and you will know that I am not on their side.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“But…but won’t they kill you,” Martin asked.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“They will not. Observe,” I responded with a smile. I put my backpack behind me and got on my knees and began to crawl out of the igloo. As I buried my body in the snow at the entrance, I put some onto my back. I noticed the igloo just across from me, and knew I needed to go slowly; shifting snow would look suspicious. I buried my head and rest of my body in the snow and began to crawl forward, blindly and gradually, until I hit the other igloo. I turned around, using the igloo I hit as a reference to be sure I turned exactly the other way, back to safety. Before I crawled forward, though, I peeked my face out of the snow quickly, before putting in back in. Knowing what would come, I dashed forward on all fours like a speeding bear toward my destination, and as I hit the igloo I came from, I heard gunfire go off. Now there’s my proof, I thought. Just as the sounds seemed like they were mere feet away from me, I burst out of the snow and wormed back into the igloo.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Now do you believe me,” I asked. I heard a series of responses that ranged from “Yeah” to “I guess.” Mission accomplished, I thought, as I searched through the crowd to find where I put my backpack. “That’s my technique,” I said as I put it back on.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">Martin said “But they’ve caught on now.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Perhaps,” I responded, “But…” I swung my backpack around and searched in it. Among a lot of survival-related gear such as matches and ropes, I found my shovel. I used it more often for clearing an area than combat, as fights often happened by surprise, with the shovel buried in my backpack, but many of my murders have been done with it-on anything from lone, insane wanderers to small gangs to large, violent organizations.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“See this,” I asked. “How many of you have one of these?” 5 or so people held up their shovel. “Good,” I said, nodding. “If we dig deep enough, they won’t be able to tell we left. Time to dig…to triumph!”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“5 minutes have passed. 5 left. If anyone else tries to leave again, we’ll send some guys in to kill everyone in their igloo.” the voice from outside said. We ignored him and began digging a hole. The fear of running out of time, combined with the triumphant tone in my final sentence, pushed us forward to, in the center of the igloo go deeper and deeper into the center of the floor of the igloo, and wasn’t even a minute until we reached the soil. The grass was long-gone, and the dirt was now smudged by the constant weight of snow over the years, now looking more like butter than something plants would grow on.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“3 minutes left,” the voice said. “3 minutes to decide.” By this point, we had created a tunnel that extended below the igloo and to an underground point in between the two rows of igloos. The tunnel was now being expanded toward the door, to where the invaders were. Our activities were silenced by the snow above us. I was currently on break, as were a few others, as I had gotten tired from digging so fast. My break was almost over when one soldier walked up to me. He sounded out of breath “Good work,” I said.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“I think…” the soldier said in between gasps. “I think we’re ready.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“You believe that we are as close as the tunnel can get to them,” I asked. “They will shoot once we show ourselves.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Yes,” the soldier said. He held the shovel I gave him up to me. “Since I hear you’re almost off break, wanna take part in step two?” I nodded as I grabbed my shovel and crawled down the tunnel. Even though this snow was deep, the tunnel wasn’t high enough for anyone to be able to stand up straight. When I got to the end, I noticed that a few other soldiers with various weapons were already standing there.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“We were waiting for you,” one of them explained.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“1 minute left,” the booming voice said, with a hint of contempt in his voice.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“Ready,” I asked, more quietly than ever. The other soldiers nodded. We each took a deep breath, seemingly as one. Then I raised my shovel and destroyed the ceiling of our tunnel.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">Snow fell all around us as we climbed out of the tunnel. In front of us, there were many soldiers with machine guns. We all scattered, each of us running toward one of these soldiers. I found one that I ran up to and hit to the ground. As gunshots rang out from all sides, I got to my knees and yanked the gun out of the soldier’s arms before squeezing off a bullet into him. Taking advantage of the gun’s continuous fire, as I got up, I raised the gun to the crowd of raiders, which was only now recovering from the surprise of seeing many soldiers burst out of the ground. I could not resist screaming louder than I ever have done in all my life as my gunfire was unleashed upon the crowd of soldiers hitting the torsos of each and every one that was not being attacked by another soldier of Hope.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">After every raider was disabled, unconscious, or dead, I fell to my knees in exhaustion, sweating and breathing hard. That gun was heavy. While I had used guns before while living in this dangerous winter wasteland, never had I managed a gun that big. Nor had I ever done a bigger task with one in my life. I was so overwhelmed by my efforts, I barely heard the words of another soldier.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">“We won,” he said. “Good plan.”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">I didn’t respond. He nodded in understanding and went to where a few other soldiers were standing, a slight distance from where I was. The soldiers leaned down, picked up a few bodies that fell into the “dead” classification, and underneath, there was the man from earlier-the man who was first to be shot. Looking around, people were getting out of their igloos and running to where the soldiers with the man were, forming quite the crowd. One soldiers felt over his chest and throat, turned to the crowd, and shook his head. He said “He’s dead. Our leader is dead”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">Guilt grew inside me. I may have not liked him, but that didn’t stop tears from coming down my cheeks; I had failed to save him. He was dead and it was all my fault. Perhaps if this had happened some years ago, I wouldn’t have been invaded by self-hatred this intensely. I already had enough of that inside of me knowing that the shear amount of snow, condition of the soil, and collapse of large civilizations around the world was all my fault.

<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; line-height:200%;font-family:"TimesNewRoman",serif">To put in another way, I am the only reason for this nuclear winter. <ac_metadata title="The Settlement of Hope-Chapter One (Unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>