The Broken Ones

CHAPTER 1

My feet crunched on the remaining ashes of the forest laying in the path I walked along everyday. Sighing, I looked around at all the scorched wilderness. Blackened, destroyed, just like half the world. My petite hands ran along the remains of a dead evergreen tree, made almost unrecognizable by the giant black scorch mark that covered the top half.

The massive solar flare a year ago had destroyed most of the plants and animals on Earth, along with frying all technology, and wiping out about three-quarters of the human population. No scientists or researchers had seen it coming, it was a complete surprise. The government collapsed, as they were all dead, and at first it had caused mass panic, not having any laws to follow. I guess us humans were so used to having rules and restrictions, that we don't know what to do without them.

After about a month, people realized they would have to figure something out so we could survive. Most people decided to form small towns anywhere and everywhere possible. Others chose to go off on their own, fending for themselves.

But there was this one small group of people I had heard of that broke off from everybody. They had only been seen a few times since. We called them the Broken. They were rebels, broken off from everyone else. They hid during the day, and at night, raided towns of supplies, food, and anything else they wanted. They were feared by almost everybody, for being so different. They were the only people that seemed to be enjoying this catastrophe. Now that there were no rules, the Broken could do anything they want, and they took advantage of that. I had heard stories from people around town that they were vicious creatures, like animals. They would rip you apart limb by limb if you dared to get in their way. They cared for nothing but themselves, and always travelled in packs, like wolves.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to believe them.

I lived in Ethra, a miniscule town far from the Broken. We were in the area that the flare hit the hardest, but we had managed to find a lake where we could get water. Both my parents had died in the flare, leaving me an orphan. There weren't any orphanages in Ethra, so I lived on my own in a tiny, beat-up old trailer. It wasn't much, but it was something to call home.

Off in the distance, I could hear my dog Rain barking, short yips that meant it was time for her to be fed. I took one last sad glance around at the corpse of a forest, and turned back towards home.

Retrieving the key from it's hiding place under a rock, I unlocked the door of my dirty-beige coloured trailer. I threw my jacket on the table and braced myself as I heard the sound of claws on laminate floors. Rain, my two year-old German Shepard skidded past me, legs flailing wildly in a futile attempt to stop. She hit the mini-fridge and bounced back, landing in a pile on the floor.

I chuckled lowly and scratched behind her ears. She looked up at me with her big brown puppy-eyes, and wagged her tail. Still laughing, I grabbed her food and filled up her bowl, almost falling over when Rain bumped into me, happily bounding over to her food dish.

I pulled vegetables from my garden out of the broken fridge. The flare had fried the power lines, and there was no one alive who could fix them so I had long gotten used to the warm fridge, though I still used it for storage. Throwing them on the cutting board, I threw together a salad and sat down on the old blue recliner.

My trailer was a jumble of all different things and colours. The walls were a pale green, the cupboards a dandelion yellow. My coffee table was mahogany, dark purple make-shift curtains covered my tiny window, and off in the right corner, lay my black and grey bed.

A basket of shrivelled apples sat on the table next to a pear-scented green candle.

I didn't have much, but it was more than some people. At least I still had Rain. She was laying on her bed, snoring happily. I wished I could be as happy and care-free as her, but I had responsibilities. I had to keep myself and Rain fed and content.