Prologue

It’s been over fifty years since the nuclear bomb was released during the war between the New World Order and the Brotherhood of Man. Some parts of the planet suffered more than others. A limited number of areas were fortunate to be only lightly kissed by the toxic radiation lingering over the earth’s surface like a thick blanket of fog.  Most of those areas were remote and of no interest to the powers that be. It was the more populated cities that captured their notice. The rapid cleanup of these cities was placed as top priority for all scientists employed by the Order.  The remote areas were left to the whims of Mother Nature.

The majority of the planet didn’t fare well under the nuclear onslaught, nor did its people. Those who weren’t wealthy or connected enough to retreat to an underground facility when the bombs were released suffered bodily mutation of the most grotesque form.  Plant life and animal life was also either mutated or destroyed. Food became such a scarcity that people took to eating each other.  

Prepared for the devastation the nuclear bombing would cause, the New World Order outfitted its army with special gear and wearing apparel to patrol the earth’s surface within days of the blast. It took a number of years and many lost lives before the mutants were finally driven underground. 

The New World Order scientists stood ready to utilize their technology to reduce the radiation poisoning in the air to a safe level.  It wasn’t long before the majority of those who hid themselves below ground surfaced to rebuild their homes and resume their lives.   Science devised a way to clear the soil and water of contamination, but it was costly and done only in the most populated or valued parts of the planet.  The lesser areas were left to the slow cleansing and purifying process of nature. The one thing they couldn’t rectify was the damage done to the ozone layer. Precautions needed to be taken to protect skin and eyes from the intense rays of the sun, but otherwise they were able to slowly replant and rebuild.  Encampments were maintained by the New World Order near the entrances to the mutant’s underground world. Battles broke out periodically as the Order sought to prevent them from returning above ground and scheme to seize control of the planet.

Earth was divided into sections, with a representative of the New World Order dictating each one. Our dictator, Bartholomew Muse, was younger than most and eager to prove himself by showing his strength and power over the people. He put a new meaning to the word tyrant. This resulted in rebellion. Many turned their support toward the remnants of the Brotherhood of Man. 

My mother was one such person. My father served in Bartholomew’s army and was killed in a skirmish with the mutants when I was just a babe in arms.  Even sadder than the fact that we lost him, was knowing he wasn’t a supporter of Bartholomew in his heart. He served because he didn’t want to bring the attention and distress to our family that he knew Bartholomew was capable of. 

Mother couldn’t have been more opposite than my father. She possessed a bold, rebellious side that surfaced fully when the news of my father’s death reached her. My father’s body was barely cold when she rounded up a small band of rebels to fight alongside her against Bartholomew’s tyranny at every possible moment. It didn’t take long to attract Bartholomew’s full attention. He made it his mission to hunt them down.

I was eight years old when he finally managed to find and kill my mother. We were attending a concert in central park. Mother left me with my grandparents while she went to speak with a few people on the opposite side of the large green. I remember the way her white gauze dress caressed her ankles as she gracefully weaved her way through rows and rows of empty chairs awaiting an audience still mingling in small clusters until the start of the concert. The air was abuzz with laughter and joy.

Then it happened.

Typical Bartholomew style, soldiers armed with machine guns came out of nowhere and took down at least half of the crowed before they were able to scatter.  It was a horror show. People ran willy-nilly while screaming and falling all around me. The once serene emerald grass was now a crimson sea of terror.  I stood, frozen, while watching my mother’s body flop like a rag doll as bullets pelted her slender torso. When the onslaught stopped, she lay motionless on the ground. Before I could get my feet to take me to my mother, my grandfather’s vice grip pulled me from the scene. 

We lived just a few blocks from the city park and had walked to the concert that evening. My grandparents must have been prepared for something like this to eventually happen because there was no panic or confusion in their actions. They shoved me into a car that miraculously appeared out of nowhere and whisked me off to a lone cabin in a remote and desolate part of the country that was ready and waiting for inhabitants. 

That was ten years ago.

Those years passed with little change in our daily routine as I grew and learned the basics of survival in our barren world from my grandparents.  Other than what I was able to view on the internet, I had minimal contact with the outside world.

Then I met Geo…