2

The world after The Burning was quiet. Too quiet. No more cars rumbling down streets, no more planes humming overhead. No more constant hum of humanity. Just ash and silence.

I moved through the ruins of a small town, my feet crunching over broken glass and charred debris. The once vibrant town was now just a skeleton, its buildings blackened and hollowed out, like they’d been picked clean by vultures. The air was thick with the smell of burnt wood and decay, and every breath tasted like dust.

I pulled my scarf tighter around my face, trying to keep out the worst of it. It didn’t help much. The ash was everywhere, in everything. It had become a part of me now.

The town had been called Ridgeway—I’d seen the half-burnt sign at the outskirts. It didn’t look like anyone had been here in months, maybe longer. The fires had swept through, and whatever had survived the flames had been looted or ransacked. Still, I needed food, water, something. Anything.

I ducked into what used to be a diner, the door hanging off its hinges. Inside, the place was a mess—tables overturned, chairs broken, the counter covered in a layer of ash. I made my way to the back, hoping the kitchen might have something left. Most of the canned goods would’ve been taken long ago, but sometimes people missed things. Sometimes they overlooked what they didn’t think was worth the effort.

I started rummaging through the cupboards, my movements quick and methodical. I’d gotten good at this. You had to be. One wrong move, one bad decision, and you were dead. I found a can of beans, dented and covered in dust but still sealed. I pocketed it, continuing my search.

I was just about to give up when I heard it—a soft, muffled sound coming from outside. My whole body tensed, and I froze, listening. It was faint, but unmistakable. Voices.

I pressed myself against the wall, peering through the cracked window. A family—two adults and a little girl, no older than six or seven—were huddled together by the remains of a gas station across the street. They were dirty, thin, their clothes torn. The mother was trying to calm the girl, who was crying softly, her face buried in her father’s chest.

I should've turned away. I should've kept moving. But I didn’t.

I watched them for a moment longer, my mind racing. They didn’t look like a threat. If anything, they looked more desperate than I was.

But I wasn't the only one watching.

Movement caught my eye—a group of men, maybe five or six, creeping toward the family from the shadows. They were armed, carrying makeshift weapons—clubs, knives, a few guns. Raiders.

My heart started pounding in my chest. I’d seen this before. I knew what was about to happen.

I should’ve walked away. I should’ve left them to their fate. But something in me snapped, something I couldn’t ignore. Maybe it was the little girl. Maybe it was the way the mother clung to her, as if she could somehow shield her from the horrors of the world.

I couldn’t save Chloe, but maybe I could save them.

I slipped out the back of the diner, moving quickly but quietly. The raiders hadn’t seen me yet, too focused on their prey. I circled around, keeping low, my eyes scanning the ground for anything I could use as a weapon. My heart pounded in my ears, but my movements were steady. I’d done this before. I knew how to survive.

I found a length of pipe, rusted and jagged at one end, and gripped it tightly. The raiders were getting closer to the family, moving like wolves around a wounded animal. The father saw them first, his eyes going wide with fear. He stood, putting himself between the raiders and his family, but it was useless. He had nothing, no weapon, no chance.

The leader of the raiders—a tall, scarred man with a shaved head—smirked as he raised his gun.