The Slave Game

Prologue

Growing up in the wasteland is good for one thing. It sorts out the weak from the strong. A sort of 'way of the spartans' lifestyle. You were either strong enough to survive, or you weren't. Anyone who couldn't shoot a gun was either dead or worse.
Growing up, I had been told stories of how the world came to be this way by my dad. But he wasn't there, so he couldn't even be sure. In all honesty, no one really knew how the world got this way anymore. It'd been a hundred years since it happened and any historians left in the world were dead.
My father was a good man. He taught me as much as he could about surviving the wastes. I never questioned him, for the first thing I learned was to do whatever he said when he said it. He showed me how to shoot a gun and how to fight. Of course, I was only twelve at this point, so there was only so much I could learn.
We lived as well as we could together. My mother had died when I was very young. So all we had was each other.
For a time...

"Do you understand me, Kyle?" My father demanded urgently.
We hid behind a desk in an abandoned building. We had come here to scavenge resources, only to find it a hideout for bandits. They had immediately attacked us, forcing us to run. Now they were hunting us down.
I nodded frantically. My father pulled back the bolt on his hunting rifle and handed me something with his other hand. He closed my fingers over the handle of the hunter knife and looked me in the eyes.
"You take this knife and run. Run straight out of this building and keep running. Run to the creek we always go to. I'll distract these guys and meet you there once I know you're safe."
The sound of the bandits' taunting drew near. They were just around the corner in the next hallway. My heart hammered in my throat. I clutched the knife in my right hand and waited for my dad to give the signal.
The bandits came around the corner and saw my dad instantly. My dad shoved me towards the door behind us. He then stood up and began shooting his bolt action rifle rapidly.
"Go, son! Go!" He yelled.
I ran like a bat out of hell, slamming the door behind me. The sounds of gunshots fueled me, pushing me to run out of the building. I ran through the streets of the dead city. I ran outside of the city and into the dead woods. I ran to the flowing creek where we had always gone to refill our waters. I had nothing but the knife in my hands and the clothes on my back.
I collapsed at the edge of the creek in exhaustion. My face hit the water and stayed there for a while. I couldn't breathe in it, but I didn't care. I gulped down the murky liquid, not even bothering to filter it with a trick my dad always did. I finally pulled my face out of the water and laid on the dirt. My chest rising and falling rapidly with every breath.
From the position of the sun, I seemed to have three hours left of daylight. Then the Bogs would come out. I didn't have any shelter in the area to hide, and I couldn't leave without my dad. So I waited. I waited for two hours, growing more worried with every mission. The sun started setting in the sky.
I needed to begin thinking of a way to remain safe if my dad didn't come before dark. I found a tree near the water and began climbing it. I reached a sturdy branch to sit on several feet off the ground. I then broke off the straightest stick I could find and began sharpening it into a spear. It wasn't much, but it was the best I could do. I sat on the branch and waited.
Darkness had set. The howls of the Bogs sounds in the night. I leaned against the trunk of the tree, clutching my makeshift spear in one hand and my knife in the other. I shook with furious fear as the shadows of the Bogs raced through the forest in the moonlight. Every time one stopped and sniffed around my tree I held my breath and waited. It reached the point where I had to close my eyes against my better judgment to stay alert. I squeezed them shut and waited for the light of the sun to shine on my eyelids.
The sun started to rise and the Bogs returned to their dwellings. I climbed down from the tree and went over to the creek. I used my shirt to soak water and then sucked the liquid out of it as my best way to filter it. My mouth had grown dry over night, so the cold water felt amazing on my tongue. I then laid down with my arms crossed over my weapons. Daytime was the best time for everything. Looting, resting, hunting... but it was also the hardest time to decide what to do. With nowhere to loot and nothing to hunt in the area, I decided to rest while I waited for my dad to show up.
But he never came...
I waited until dusk again, thinking that maybe he had needed more time to cover his tracks. So I climbed back in my tree and endured another terrifying night with the Bogs. When the sun rose, I went and drank from the creek, not thinking about my growing hunger. I then laid down with my weapons and waited. Repeating the cycle for another day.
After the third night I accepted the hard truth. My father had most likely been killed. But I didn't leave yet. What if he was alive? What if he came looking for me and I wasn't here? So I ignored my growing hunger for another two nights, enduring the fears of the Bogs and the heat of the sun beating down on me in the mornings.
By the sixth day, I couldn't wait anymore. I was getting sick from the unclean water, and I was shaking from the hunger. I used my spear to help me walk and held my knife in my hand. I walked. I walked far in the opposite direction of the city where my father probably died. I looked back once and fought off the tears. Tears were for the weak.
And I had to be strong. For my dad. He taught me how to be strong. I had to live. For him.
I was alone now...