Untitled

Prologue

The broken street signs protrude at jagged angles from the mass of rubble that lies before me. I stand where thirteen story walls of concrete and glass once stood; when this ruined city was still considered home. Where kids would run around all day with no worries besides who was 'it,' and parents talked happily amongst themselves from the park benches. But that was before. Before the bombing, before the fear, before I became the face of rebellion.

Now I stand, staring out at the mess, with a group of Rebels behind me; each armed with pistols and three magazines of ammunition. I'm well aware Rebels isn't the most brilliant name, but we voted as a group, and it was either that or The Ferocious. Despite it being horribly unoriginal, the name fits. We are rebels; fighting against the majority, opposed to their views, and trying to change their way of operating.

As I begin my search for survivors, I pass by the old city church. I gave up on religion years ago, when they started creating new versions of the bible, claiming an invisible man in the sky told them to do so. They called them "Glorified Bibles," altering their contents to correspond with laws the president wanted to impose-but couldn't. Maybe that's how they're able to eradicate entire states and provinces with no repercussions.

I'm approaching the woods lining the east side of the city when I hear it; the clink of aluminum hitting concrete. The hissing of the can emptying its contents is the last thing I hear before the world turns white.