Dead Zone. (BOOK ONE/PILOT.)

-Four-

The wind had picked up by morning as I forced my eyes open, rolling to my feet and immediately looking around to make sure my current shelter was safe. After quickly checking the rubble near me, ('Securing the perimeter,' my Dad always called it that.) I decided the best idea was to move on after eating something.

I feel rested enough, and every second I spend not moving is a second they spend continuing to push into the Zone. Hell, even if the 'Pre-Zone' world doesn't exist, it still beats anywhere near Ground Zero.

After finding a decently sized backpack, I bundled a few pieces of assorted goods (Tinned food, cigarettes I found on bodies and around the area, A simple change of clothes, magazines for the three pistols and the two submachine guns wedged in, etc.) and a few canteens of water inside, and set it next to me as I began to re-light the fire. The dull base and burned twigs and pieces of oak seemed almost impossible to light, yet after a few minutes of rearranging the tinder and pouring some lighter fluid I'd found onto the mass, it began to gently heat itself up, the charred logs assisting fresher ones in finding a new lease to their lives

'There's always something to make a fire with, never forget it son. Even if the fire's wet, enough fluid and it'll light.'

Fire had always had a comfort to me: We'd all sit around it when we weren't staying in a city, sharing jokes and warming food with each other as we all sat around it. It was usually Sammy who'd get the ball rolling. He'd always try to multitask, dad would chastise him for it, and both of us would shoot back with some sort of joking insult. We'd all laugh, and the laughter wouldn't stop for hours, even when the base of the flame would stop smouldering.

And now? The fire's never felt emptier.

And I've never felt colder.

A few hours passed: I made a routine for myself out of habit. Firewood was thrown onto the mass, my thoughts swirled, and I sipped water and ate the food I could stomach before adding more fuel to the flames. As soon as my body reached it's limits, I left the fire burning and the few useful items next to it, close enough to keep them warm for a while, but far enough away to make sure nothing caught alight.

I wont be back here, but if someone else needs it? They'll have somewhere cosy to hole up for the night.

The rubble seemed to mainly stem from the centre of a building, it's corpse half stuck out of the earth, tilted slightly onto it's side. From a certain angle, it looked as if it was being held up by the clouds itself, as nothing but the air seemed to stop it from suddenly toppling over to it's side. Each step felt like a minor victory as I continued to skid over small stones and climb over obstacles, half guessing which way my captors had headed. The mishmash of ruined buildings and recently inhabited places stuck out in my mind: Hollowed out cities that used to inhabit billions of people ruled over the lands, and now, as it moves past me, it looks like nothing more than an ugly, rotting mess: a metropolis turned to dust. The sun continued to rise as I pushed on, the thoughts continued, much less permeating, but still visible in my mind.

'And our fathers wept as they looked on, watching their creations construct new toys out of their primal blood, their bones repurposed into yet another contraption to contort and twist our trust and safety, may you find peace in your violence.'

A few turned cans of dust-free food were littered around the edge of the rubble, leaving my trace of my captors barren once again. They lead towards a concrete road, dulled by both the constant changing weather and the blast from Ground zero. Faded tire tracks, sliding across like snakes in grass, indicated that they were once used for something other than a larger footpath for people to follow. No footprints, no discarded items further down, nothing. With nothing but intuition, I continued down, keeping my eyes and ears open for anything I could hear. Hours passed, with nothing but myself, my thoughts, and the occasional whistling of the wind keeping me company. It seemed as if the places I passed were always empty or inhospitable: A few rundown, shack-like structures held together with nothing but spit and hope, small clearings with a blackened out centre indicating someone set camp weeks ago, and so. And yet no animals lurked around any corner, or hid in any tree. No human, desperate for supplies, or Butcher, desperate for flesh, attempted to stop me. There simply wasn't another soul in mind, only increasing my paranoia of heading the incorrect way.