• Today was very different than most days. Generally she put on her equipment, and went to the city but recently she heard a rumor of some untouched suburbs a few miles east of where she normally went. Thus she set off along the path less traveled. There was an added bonus to going this way, she noted, it was off the trail, thus there was less chance of an ambush. Not to mention there was a significantly lower possibility of wandering into a hot spot.

    So for miles, she hiked through forest, even though her aged joints were aching. The smell of loam thick in the air. Things of value were hard to come by in the forest. After all: anything that was easy to grab had already been looted years ago. Yes, things worth anything were most definitely hard to come by, but scrounging was a better way to live than farming. The rare token or jewel paid more than a year of muck-raking and seed-tending. So instead of an agrarian life, she choose to scrounge. This was a choice she regretted at times. Especially the times where she had to fight off highwaymen with little more than her wit and a machete. Now, however, was peaceful, and she cherished that.

    The animals had changed over the years. It's as if they just stopped caring. She remembered when the deer would scatter at the slightest human encroachment, but now they just stared. Stared with their deep empty eyes. She knew it was crazy to let it bother her, but she couldn't help it. It felt like they judged her, condemned her, mocked her. Of course, if you got too close, they'd scamper away, but mostly they'd just stare until they bored of the interloper and began to eat again. All the animals acted this way, she was sure of it. They all judged her.

    “Enough.” she whispered, trying to derail the train of thought. The sound of her own voice, even muffled, upset her. She hated what had happened to her over the years. She used to be a singer, she used to have a beautiful voice. Now? It was a poor scratchy, gurgle. A hollow remnant of what it used to be.
    “Enough.” she said, trying to stop the train of thought. The forest echoed with her speech. She might have attracted attention if anyone was around. Most likely the attention would not be enjoyable. She couldn't remember the last time someone had been friendly to her. She couldn't remember the last time she didn't meet someone she didn't end up killing. After all, she was trained to kill.
    “Enough!” she screamed, destroying the train of thought.

    She had reached her destination.

    It was certainly untouched, that was right. There where even bicycles and cars out in the middle of the cul-de-sac. Grown over and rusted, but still noticeable. This place was a gold mine. She decided to be systematic about her looting. Starting at the closest house to her left, she went around from house to house, checking for valuables and any canned goods. So for hours, she went from house to house, searching for anything of use, anything of worth. By the time she was done, the sun was hanging low in the sky and her loot pack was full to the brim. She felt a bit guilty, robbing this irradiated graveyard, where the outlines of people where still visible on the wall, but sentimentality had little place in the forest.

    The path back was more arduous. The sheer mass of her pack had made it significantly harder to walk up and down the numerous hills back to her hovel. Though the strain was made easier by the fact that she knew that she would not only be able to put food on the table for tonight, but for months to come, and all without shoveling dirt or trying to coax the ground into being fertile. The thought of this made her feel positively giddy, an emotion she had not felt in well over a month. Meanwhile, the sound a light ticking made itself apparent.

    Tick tick
    “The Geiger counter is your lifeline” the drill instructor echoed in her ear.
    Tick tick
    “Without it, you will be completely helpless to hot spots”
    Tick tick
    “If you encounter a hot spot, exit the area, and report it to your officer”
    Tick tick tick
    The voices fade, reality came back into focus, and the world ended all over again.

    She got to her house as the moon was high in the sky. It was a full moon that night, allowing for easy travel after dusk. The hovel she called home used to be part of an airplane before it was shot down. The main body of the house was the tail section, the wings had broken up and fallen away long ago. Inside the house there was a fireplace, a small table, and some chairs. She placed the loot next to the table and sat down. It'd been a strenuous day, thought it was worth it. Reaching into her bag, she groped for a can, any can. She pulled out one labeled “Crab”

    “Looks like I'm having fine dining tonight.” She grabbed a can opener, split the top of the can and poured the insides into a pot which hung over the fireplace. Quickly, the smell of crab and brine filled the room. The salty air stung her worn out lungs. It pulled at the cracks and tears of her insides with sharp talons, pulling out blood, tar, and memories.

    Her first month on the carrier had been uneventful. She wrote to her family back home, ate in the canteen and sat bored looking out to sea. She remembered how they used to joke about their job.

    “Stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror.” Whether that was true or not was irrelevant, she used to tell herself. She believed so strongly in her country, so strongly in her home, that none of that mattered. She was doing the right thing. She did the right thing. She did the right thing to all those people. She was just a ship hand on a carrier. So goes what she said.

    The brine cleared out of the air and dinner was ready. She dimmed the fire so as not to attract unwanted attention. She ate slowly, savoring the rare delicacy oh its' flavor. After eating, the loot bag was opened further to reveal the exploits of the day. She had found a hunting rifle, ammunition, food, various jewelry, some gasoline, and, the prize of her expedition, books. She had little interest in reading, really. Being a pre-event survivor she had known most of the things that were in the books. She could, however, trade them for quite a bit of ammunition and a bit of food to boot. As such, they had much value to her.

    She had heard rumors from the east that there was a library of some sort, filled with books. She doubted this, however, no buildings were left to the east. Let alone a library. Even if a library survived, nature would have moved in long ago. Mildew and vines seeping into the very foundation, just like nature did to everything else.

    Ever since it had happened, nature had taken over. The vines and mold took over almost immediately, the forest moved slower, but with greater force. She had seen buildings fall in the city, fall as if they were made of cards. All because of the implacable movement of nature. The city still glowed at night. A strange green hue that filtered through the leaves, as if the moon itself sat in the crater, diffusing an unearthly glow throughout the area.

    The fire was almost out and with the darkness came tiredness. Sleep, however, was a rare leisure. Each night was the same tired routine. First came a warm fuzzy blackness, but before it truly came over her, she saw it, and every night, it woke her, scared her. She saw the fire, the smoke. She said later she could hear the screaming, but her officer said it was too far away to make out any sounds. She knew, though, she knew what she heard and every night she stayed awake because of it. Every night, she sat awake, knowing she had been there when over a million people were turned into shadows. Every night, she remembers watching the bomber leave on a one way visit, pilot in tears. Every night, she sat awake, knowing she'd turned helped to turn the world into a phosphorescent Eden; and every night, she forgot it all over again.