Chapter one.

As I lay in the dusty snow, I contemplated the last few hours. How could I have been so careless? I know better than that.

It had all started when I had tried to enter a deserted town. There was a small blizzard, or maybe a small dust-storm, and it was pretty harsh, so I had taken refuge in a large hardware store. The place looked devoid of anything useful, having been picked clean by the mobs and rioters in the first days after Apophis. I had nothing better to do, so I meticulously combed around for anything they could have missed. I thought I had reached the high point of my search when I found a large magnet, but discovered something better. A small locking pocketknife, which was very helpful to me. I had taught myself how to blacksmith, so this knife was not just a knife, but it meant an extension of the lives of all my blades. After nine years, my knife, hatchet and axe were all battered badly, and I didn't want to fuse on poorer quality metal to the blades. Now that I had found my first unused and unmolested pocketknife in years, I now had some good strong blade-grade steel.

I was excited by the find, which explained what happened next. I turned to leave, when I failed to notice two shapes hovering on the shelves above me. They waited till I was under them, and then jumped me. I was caught completely off guard, and dropped everything I was carrying. I tried to fight them for a good time, but shortly after wounding one pretty good, I heard a sound I didn't like. "Alright, come on. Hold still, and we won't hurt you. We just want to see what you have in that fancy backpack there." The third man had a shotgun, so I felt obliged to let him have his way. I had lost my .44 automag in the scuffle, and my hunting rifle was still stashed at my camp at the edge of town. They took everything, except my backpack, my hundred feet or so of rope, and a canteen and flimsy tent. As they left me there, they threw my backpack at me contemptuously, and stalked off.

I hurredly looked around for my automag, and found it under a pile of wood. I grabbed it and charged after the assailants. The saw me coming and gave a look of surprise. They darted behind the wrecks of old cars, and waited. I didn't want to waste bullets, as they were becoming rarer by the day, but I thought I'd be willing to use at least one to get my point across. I told them to stand and drop any weapons. Instead, they jumped and started firing their guns at me. I returned fire, and got one of them, and had the other pinned down. But I had lost track of the third one. He had the shotgun, and I had no clue where he was. No one was shooting now, but I knew that could change quickly. I was looking around madly, and still couldn't find him. I started to move for better cover, when I bumped something. The third guy turned fast and jammed the butt of his shotgun into the back of my neck. I crumpled to the ground and lost conciousness.

While unconcious, I rembered in a dream why I hadn't brought my rifle. I could have fought them off better if I'd had it, but then recalled what I had thought this morning. I had felt that if there were any locals still here, they wouldn't take kindly to someone with a powerful rifle, and would take pot shots at me. I'd seen it happen before, four years ago in a suburb of Seattle. I was just about to go into town, when I saw somebody walking around with a .50 caliber rifle that he must have gotten from a military base. He looked rather nochalant, and strolled around arrogantly. As I saw him standing there in the middle of a street, I sensed something was wrong. I ducked behind a bush, to avoid being spotted, and I heard one shot ring out. I peaked through the leaves, and saw that the man with the .50 had been rather expertly shot in the head. Then three teenage boys ran out, retrieving the rifle and all the supplies he was carrying. I should have risked it, my rifle didn't look all that menacing, but I was paranoid ever since the experience.

As I woke, I found myself deposited in the dusty snow just outside town, and decided not to get up for a bit when I almost passed out from the pain in my neck and the back of my head. I made an inventory of what I still had, and found that I now had no automag, my canteen had been stolen, and my tent was still there but missing its poles. Beyond this I had only my sheath knife. Everything else, including my ammunition and the lint in my pockets was gone. I groaned, and turned over on my side, and fell asleep reflecting on my misfortune.

I am revising. Everything from earlier

except the prolouge is no longer part of the book, until further notice.