Sorrow and Memories

The makeshift road block was working. Ever since the crash no road bound vehicles had approached the now hidden home. Only three months had passed, but thousands had died from starvation, but that number would soon be eclipsed by the deaths caused by violence.

"Otto, how are you doing on ammo?" Teller's radio squealed as he released the button.

"Only one mag down, so I am good on primary for now. You?" More static.

"I'm on my... Damn it! Here they come again!"

Six men appeared over the berm fifty yards away. They were armed with what ever they had been able to get their hands on. On had what looked like a crowbar while the others appeared to have guns. The one on the far left raised a rifle and chambered a round. Teller quickly sent two rounds into his gut.

The other five quickly took notice and started running in all directions. Two continued toward the house and Teller responded with his "Russian" as Otto dispatched two more.

Mark Teller crouched again in his half-finished trench.

How many were there? Five? Or was there six?

Teller's radio squealed again.

"I got a couple, but Crowbar got away. You, see where he went?"

"Missed him. too"

Teller made a quick 360 scan of the area. Not any immediate trace.

"Hey, Otto, I don't think we will be seeing him any time soon, again. He was the last one, right?"

"As far as I can tell. Keep an eye out though, those are vindictive little scavengers."

Teller sat back down. Images of how things were before the collapse meandered though his mind. He allowed himself to think of what things would be like if they had not changed. He would be at the forge beating on some steel. The people he had just killed would still be in the city doing what ever job it was that they had. Coasting though life never imagining that perhaps the next big news event would not be half a world away.

No, this time we are the story.

He remembered His niece running up to him and giving him a hug. His little brother had grown up. David was almost 24 now and Jessica would have been five. David was an excellent father despite his young age. He worked day and night and on his off time he would play with his daughter. He had built a swing for her on the tree next to their small home. He would push her until she decided to play hide and seek or that she was hungry. David's wife, Gayla, was a quiet girl, but she was a good wife. She always let David know when he was doing something idiotic, or when he simply needed to sit down and rest.

A tear came to Teller's eye. There was no more Jessica. There was no more Gayla. David was the only one to survive when they were attacked. They were sleeping and they had food. They were easy targets. The man who shot them would have said that they were asking for it, but he never did. David killed him when he was finally able to get to his own gun. The funeral was small and quick. There was little time to mourn. People were hungry and if they knew that this small group had food there would be too many people to handle. Now David was behind the house prepping some venison for dehydration. He was handling it all as well as he could.

How did it all come to this?

CRACK!

A gunshot.

"Hey, Teller, Crowbar came back."

"You got him?"

"Yeah, I got him."