A Bleak Winter

Chapter 1 - Forfield

Grey skies like floating mountains of ash powered over a small cottage of cobble. Famished men slouched over frozen dirt, hopelessly scratching at it with makeshift tools.

Closer to the centre of the village was a tiny marketplace. Men sat behind stalls whilst mothers and their starving children bartered and cried for a slice of bread.

The bigger and stronger men dragged along wooden carts which would pick up the bodies- almost skeletons- of former men, women and children. The famish was the biggest threat of the apocalypse.

One of the bigger stalls was connected to a building. A fire blasted and metal echoed through the streets. This was a makeshift forgery and the villages main supply of tools.

Before the fire sat a young man. A head of red hair almost as bright as the flames themselves. A small light in a dead world. He had young eyes that looked like they had a world to see but not enough time to see it. Or maybe he didn't want to. Despite his seemingly young adult appearance, he had worn hands that had seen an age of work.

The door slammed open and a man walked in. A larger man, a rarity with some meat on his bones. He was pale with similarly red hair but slightly darker with age and soot. After hanging up his coat and wrapping an old apron around himself, his large, hairy arms were visible. He put a hand on the boys shoulder.

"Alright, Cody. Switch." Announced the man.

The young man, allegedly named 'Cody', stepped up from the flame and put his arms into a large worn coat. He strapped a small pouch around his waist and picked up some kind of makeshift pistol made of what looked like rusted pipes and steel.

The boy slipped out, getting waves and nods of acknowledgment. He smiled back, people liked his smile. They were rare, not many people had the energy or motivation to smile any more. He began to make his way out of the village.

Cody lightly paced along the old torn roads that hadn't been given a layer of tar in decades. As such, cracks and bumps ran up along the centre; dirt, dust, snow and animal tracks littered the path.

His fingers wrap around a small knife from his pouch as a tree to his left began to rustle. An ebony feathered bird shot from the tree, causing Cody to stagger back. He mumbles under his breath as he stumbles back to his feet.

A few hours pass. He was able to scavenge some left over wood, bullet casings and other bits and bobs from temporary raider and traveller camps. He met a travelling merchant, an elderly weapon who sold him some animal pelts and decently fresh vegetables in exchange for half of his cash and two squirrels. Expensive but potentially very valuable.

A lot of the surrounding area was dead soil and ruined by fallout but if someone can find some fresh soil then they can start a farm, making their family business even bigger.

Not a great haul today but he could afford it.

Off in the distance was a glow. A wavering glow that flickered and lashed at the sky like a wild beast attempting to escape the depths of hell itself. Cody shrugged it off as another raider clash or gypsy settlement. But he soon realised that was the direction of his village. His face covered in dread as he began to stagger, then jog and then sprint towards the village.

Monstrous flames spiralled upwards, gigantic tendrils of smoke ripped through the darkening sky violently. The screams of villagers, Cody's friends, rang in his ears.

To see flames, a tool Cody had used his entire life as a thing of creation, destroy so much of what he loved. Cody froze, his body was stiff and his legs quivered. He fell to his knees.

He was on the edge of the village, just the entrance. None of the raiders noticed him. He quickly got to his feet and began to run. He ran away from the village, not looking back. He ran wherever his legs would take him, his eyes flooding with clear tears.