Chapter One
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.
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. “Greetings,” I called out. “Do not shoot! I am seeking 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.
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.
“Well,” the man asked. “What do you want?”
“I am seeking help,” I responded.
“This isn’t charity. Do you want to trade,” the man asked.
“No,” I started. “I…”
“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.
“The citizens of your settlement…” I started.
“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.
“The citizens of Hope could hold a vote. They could, through a democratic process, 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.
“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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“No problem,” I responded. “Name?”
“Martin,” he said.
“Uh…” I couldn’t tell him that my name was Hillston Hugh. I’d have to make one up. “Bob. Bob Jones.”
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.
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.
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 am aware that 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.
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.”
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.
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.”
“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.”
“How many soldiers do you have at your disposal,” I asked.
“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. My thought process was blocked up by intense worry. This place was it-the place where I could finally have a purpose, and my one opportunity I had in four years was going to be taken away by some pathetic bandits. I took a deep breath and tried to think-how could I help save this town? Then I remembered it.
“Soldiers,” I whispered. They turned toward me. “I was out there for an extended period of time and was not shot once. I was using a technique. It is…”
“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…”
“2 minutes have passed. 8 minutes left,” said the booming voice.
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?”
“Just part of your act,” the soldier responded.
Martin asked “Why do you think he’s with them?”
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.
“I will go out there.” I declared. The soldiers looked at me with intensity in their faces. “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.”
“But…but won’t they kill you,” Martin asked.
“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.
“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.
Martin said “But they’ve caught on now.
“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.
“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 penetrate deep enough, they will not be able to tell we left. Time to dig…to triumph!”
“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.
“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.
“I think…” the soldier said in between gasps. “I think we’re ready.”
“You believe that we are located as near to them as possible,” I asked. “They will try to execute us once we show ourselves.”
“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.
“We were waiting for you,” one of them explained.
“1 minute left,” the booming voice said, with a hint of contempt in his voice.
“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.
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.
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.
“We won,” he said. “Good plan.”
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”
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.
To put in another way, I am the only reason for this nuclear winter.
Chapter Two
Yes, you have indeed read that last sentence correctly. The event responsible for what one may call “the end of the earth” is all my fault. At that moment, there was still self-hatred inside of me when someone from the crowd around me and the soldiers said: “Who’s going to run us now?” The question pulled me back to reality. A pause occurred before everyone began to shout.
“He should run us!” “No, she should!” “What about him?” “I think I could!”
Gritting my teeth in annoyance, I rose to my feet, gathered up my air, and shouted: “Lower your voices!” Everyone turned to look at me with reactions ranging from bothered to furious.
“What made you the leader?” “Shut up!” “Can’t you understand we’re angry?”
“I understand the fury within you,” I said, responding to that final comment from the crowd, “but if we stay level-headed, we can reach a conclusion. I’ll go first; what if we could hold an election on the new leader?” People looked at each other. They seemed to have all broke up into little groups that whispered to each other. Gradually, the groups merged back into one big crowd again.
“Yes.” “Why not?” “Not a bad idea.”
I smiled. This was the closest thing to order that I had seen to order in years. I began to speak. “Good to know. Who would like to be a candidate in our election?” What happened next made my smile vanish. Nobody raised their hands. It seemed the crowd was just as worried as I was. People surveyed each other, looking for somebody to be a candidate. Everyone’s hands were either at their sides or in their coat pockets. I faintly heard many say some sort of excuse to the person next to them, most of them being along of the lines of “too much responsibly now.” As I watched this scene, an idea came to me.
Since nobody wanted this position, it was mine for the taking. I certainly was hoping for a purpose and chance for redemption in this settlement, but leading it was more than I even fantasized about. Without a hint of fear, I raised my hand. The crowd turned toward me, and their mouths dropped open. Afterward, some of the people regained their senses and began to speak.
“You’re inexperienced.” “You just arrived!”
I said “Yes, but as the soldiers will tell you, I helped develop a strategy to defeat the criminals. And you have nobody else who wants to be your leader, so the alternative is anarchy.” Despite what I said, I could still see disapproval in the eyes of the crowd. “If you are suspicious, you could make it the job of one of the residents to keep an eye on me. A long-time resident who you know you can trust.”
Unlike before, a hand shot up in the crowd. She walked from the back to the front of the crowd. It was Elizabeth, the woman I noticed earlier. “I’ll do it,” she said, standing straight up. After she said that, the crowd began to relax.
“Any more questions you have,” I asked. Without responding, they began to break up, going back to the igloos to continue with their lives. While watching them, I felt Elizabeth touch me on the shoulder.
“You’ll sleep in,” she said.
I held up my hand. “Wait,” I said. “I have an idea.” I walked over to where the bodies of raiders were.
“What are you doing,” Elizabeth asked. I didn’t answer. I felt over the throats of bodies like that soldier from earlier did with the dead leader. Noticing what I was doing, a few soldiers joined in.
Eventually, I heard one say “I found one. He’s just wounded.” I stood up and walked over to him. The soldier who said this stood over a raider. Looking closely, I noticed something about these raiders that surprised me-they weren’t the standard bandits with weapons obviously handled by amateurs. The guns were all in well-handled condition, without a dent or scratch.
“The guns…” I picked one up at random and held it over the Raider. The soldier who led me to him stood straight down at the bandit, who struggled to not look at him. “They look exceptionally handled. If that is the case, then why are your clothes in such poor condition?” I lifted a loose bit of the raider’s clothing as an example.
“H…h…” he began, and from his choking, I could tell we would not have more than 15 minutes to interrogate him. “Hock saves the…vests for the best. We broke away anyway.” The first word surprised me, to the point that I twitched slightly. I thought that man was dead. Hock Hugh was my brother, and he was a man I was admired for his optimism until it was revealed on the news that he was a drug lord who turned to the business to pay off his bank debts. Ever since he was found and went into hiding somewhere, I detested him because my family tree connection to a drug dealer almost stopped me from becoming governor of New York State.
Then again, maybe that would have been for the better.
Another blaring gasp shook me out of my thoughts. I looked back down at the Raider and asked, “Why did you attempt this?”
The Raider began to snicker, which sounded quite painful when it was in between wheezes for air. “Welcome to Hillston’s world, with 50 percent less food, 150 percent less order…” he paused and turned his head to observe the guns from the dead bandits. “…and 200 percent more guns,” he finished. This was the most common motive to turn to raiding these days, with the only other one I have seen being revenge.
“How many more bandits,” I asked, with both me and the soldier leaning in close to his face. I squinted at the bandit, trying to make an expression of anger to be sure he talked.
“No,” the Raider shouted, his eyes widening. “No more! We’re the only…” He stopped to gasp once again, and his eyes darted back between me and the soldier. “Yes, there’s more! Way more! With bulletproof vests! Hock will burn ya down if ya cross him!”
I turned to the soldier. We leaned our heads close to each other’s so the bandit couldn’t hear us. The soldier said, “He says he broke away.”
I said, “I suggest we find Hock. He can’t be too distant from here if these raiders can come and we will need to have a peaceful relationship with other settlements to win the war against this winter.”
The soldier stared at me. “And if he’s just as friendly as these guys?”
“Then we will combat him,” I said. Just as I finished saying that, both of us spun our heads toward the bandit and saw that he was crawling away. He was reaching for the nearest gun. He both sprinted after him. He was picking up his gun when I jump on top of his chest, forcing him to drop the gun as he screamed in pain. I got off of him and I and the soldier sat on either side of him, being sure my body was blocking any guns.
“Is Hock’s settlement hostile,” I asked.
The Raider took a deep breath. “Well,” he began, “The guy brainwashes every one of his citizens with stupid propaganda.” This news could have been good or bad news. If he was able to get his hands on a working camera in these times, he could have the resources to be a great barter partner, but if he were hostile, who knows what weapons he would have access to? And speaking of the camera, filmmaking was nothing new to Hock. In fact, directing was his job before he turned to the drug industry.
A beep rang out from behind me and the soldier. We both turned around and saw that there was something the in the man’s pocket. The soldier reached in while I held the Raider in place. After a bit of struggling with the shaking bandit, the soldier got out a walkie-talkie. He handed it to me and took his turn keeping down the raider.
I turned over the walkie-talkie, studying every centimeter. Like the guns, it was in perfect condition. One thing that caught my attention briefly was the number written on the back in white marker. “27.” As for that beeping, it was coming from most of the walkie-talkies around us. Turning to the front of the one in my hand, I looked at the buttons, squinting at this primitive device. Finally, I settled on one of the bigger buttons, assuming it to be the “accept” button. Before I reached for the button, the soldier asked the Raider “If you are breaking away from the main settlement, why would Hock call you?”
“Whenever we steal walkie-talkies,” the raider explained, “He each gets a person to call the stolen ones, in hopes that it’ll somehow convince them to come back to his side. Just a formality, really.” He said the last few words in a rush, and right after he finished he gasped, sounding more painful than ever. Just from that sound alone, it was reasonable to guess that he would be around for about 5 more minutes.
I pressed the button and waited a moment before a voice that was steady and deadpan-as though it were reading a prepared speech-answered through thick static. “Hello, it has come to our attention that a series of gang members have stolen 54 walkie-talkies, specifically numbers 23 through 77. To the people responsible for thievery, leave the gang and turn yourself in along with the stolen property, and you will receive a mere week in solitary confinement. No further punishment will be inflicted. If you associate with this group after being persecuted or refuse to turn yourself in at all, the penalty will be death. Thank you for listening. Any question? Over.”
“Uh…is it possible I could communicate to Hock? Over,” I said. I’m not sure why you would say “over” at the end of every sentence over a walkie-talkie, but I didn’t want to ruin my chances of arranging a meeting because of my failure to use this device.
“Why would you want to do that? Over,” the voice said.
“I’m the leader of a settlement called Hope. A gang from your settlement attacked it, and if we live close enough for that event to happen, we should negotiate peace. Over,” I said.
“I’ll…I’ll see if we can get him for you. Wait there,” the voice said. Afterward, there was a long silence. I looked back to the soldier and raider during this silence. The soldier was standing up now, as the raider had gone unconscious like most of his fellow bandits, and from looking at his chest, you could see he was barely breathing.
Eventually, a voice came on. It was deep and hoarse, like the man who had had been shouting recently. It was definitely Hock. “You wanna meeting? Over.”
“I do indeed. Are you Hock? Over.” I already knew, but I couldn’t let anyone guess I was Hillston Hugh.
“Yes. Why do you wanna talk? Over,” said Hock.
I responded “A party that attacked us states they broke away from your settlement. We need to know, will you be hostile as well, and if not, I see opportunities for trading that could help us both.”
“We’ll need a place to be. The signal on these walkies is crap, and we don’t need a misheard comment leadin’ to war. Over,” Hock said.
I said “We will need a place to speak, and I do not know where your settlement is located. Over.”
“I’ve made a map from what my people have seen and talked about over the years. Can you say what the place you’re in looks like? Over,” Hock said.
I looked around, mentally noting every detail. There were many hills, like the particularly wide one Hope was on top. I remembered passing by the shack, so I noted that too. But what else what there? Hope was clearly made after Hock complied these reports, so I couldn’t say “cylinder walls” or “igloos.” After a bit of thinking, I decided that it would help to give a bit more detail of that shack. I remembered that it was made of bricks, except for the roof, which was made of wood. I told Hock all these details.
“Hmmm…” Hock began. “It seems you’re in the Green Walk Hills. If you go north, you’ll find The Balance Supermarket in Roker Town. Hopefully, the sign’s still there. Over.”
“Are there any more details we need to work out in advance? Over,” I asked.
“Nope,” said Hock. “Except for the time. Can you start walking over very soon? Clocks are hard to come by these days, and I still can’t see the stars, moon, or sun.”
I nodded. I was not hoping to go so soon, especially after a fight, but I was now a leader again and knew that such schedules must be endured. I turned to the soldier, who was standing above the long-dead body of the raider looking. I said “Goodbye, Hock,” and hung up. Looking at the soldier at I said “We are going to have to start walking very shortly. We will be traveling north to The Balance Supermarket.”
The soldier’s eyes widened in surprise. At first, I thought it was because we would be going shortly, but he said: “Do you know which way north is?”
Before I could respond, I heard a voice behind me that said: “I don’t know if he does, but I’ll help.” I turned around and saw Martin. He was walking with a limp and holding onto a stick. “Here, I have a compass.” He searched his pocket with his free hand and pulled it out. “I used to be part of the boy scouts,” he explained. As I walked forward and looked at, Martin said “Thanks for saving me.”
“No need to thank me,” I said. What I really meant was “You should not thank me.” Ever since my terrible mistake caused those bombs to go off and the sun to be blocked out, I lost every bit of self-respect I had, and there was an abundance of that before then. Ever since then, I needed a purpose-something I could do to compensate for destroying all civilizations on earth. If I made peace with Hock or defeated him if he attacked, would that compensate for what I did? Surely, helping in healing process of humanity would compensate for the damage I have done.
Looking at the compass, we determined which direction north was in. While I was thanking Martin for his help in return, Elizabeth walked up to me. “Here’s a meal,” She said and handed a giant raw carrot wrapped in plastic. I realized I hadn’t thought how these people got their food.
“How are you able to grow food amidst this terrible climate,” I asked.
“We don’t,” said Elizabeth. “We just have 2 years of rations left.”
“How are you planning to address this problem,” I asked, taking a bit out of the delectable carrot.
“In 3 months, we’re having a meeting on it,” Elizabeth responded. “You’ll be attending.”
“I could infer I would,” I said after swallowing. “Because you have spent a good deal of time here, may I ask you what brought you here?”
“Something awful,” Elizabeth said with a sad smile, as I took another bite. “I lost someone. Did you?”
“Possibly, but what sort of threat caused this tragedy,” I asked, before shoving the last bit of the carrot in my mouth. I was tempted to ask who it was, but I respected that she preferred to keep the details vague.
“The cold,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “You’re sleeping at the igloo at the very end of the left row.”
I nodded. However, soon a soldier came up to me and told me it was time to go. I was aware it was going to be a long walk. Even though the distance was unlikely to be great, the climate would always slow down anyone. As we began to walk, I began to think. I knew this was my chance to atone for my mistakes, but could I do it, I thought. There was a solution that would fix everything for everyone else, but I didn’t know of that option at that point.
There was another trouble on my mind as we walked. Why did I decide to become leader of Hope? These four years had been harsh on me, to the point that at that time, I had no sense of who I was. From how it seemed, I was split into between the two possible motives I had. If I wanted to do it to redeem myself, like I kept telling myself I had, then I would have been a decent human. But did I want to do it only to regain my reputation? If there was no promise of honor for taking on this burden, would I had done it?
One fact was certain-I had a good deal of lost acclaim to regain. Years ago, I was a man who had gone from being the governor of New York to none other than the president of United States of America. In those days, I was known as the man who was trying to make America a place that would invite over 320 million to make their homes. Now my reputation was like a fallen empire.
“Sir,” said a soldier, snapping me out of my thoughts. “We’re at Roker now.” He pointed toward a sign. Although there was ice covering most of it, there wasn’t any snow over the letters, allowing me to read the sign. It said, “Welcome to Roker: For lovers of silent serenity.” Turning back toward the road and surveying the town, I only found the “silent” part to be truthful.
Abandoned cars with broken windows, as well as missing doors squished against the many houses, most of which were incredibly small. Base on the size of the dwellings, this place was clearly for the lower classes. The houses were chipped, and some of them were now little more than wreckages of their former selves. Additionally, the streets were filled with discarded signs, some of which had submerged into the snow somewhat.
A soldier pointed at one of the many destroyed houses and said “Are you sure the supermarket will still be here? And do we even know where it is.”
“Hmmm…” I said as we walked into the town. Looking at the three directions we could go in (left, right, or straight), I noticed that the buildings that were seen when continuing to go straight were mostly business. Bars, restaurants, banks, and yes, there was a supermarket. “Over here,” I said, and my soldier followed. The building I was looking was small, and it had paint above the doors. Most of the letters were gone, but I could still make out what used to be the word “supermarket” and the “bal” part of balance. Even then, I had to squint to see it, because the paint had faded to the point that it blended with the concrete it was painted on.
“Time to enter,” I said, as I marched forward and open one of the doors, with the other soldiers following close behind.