Same Apocalypse, Different Day
"Come on pass me that nail before night falls"
Dad is repairing the fence for the millionth time. Of course, it won't hold; it never does... not when they're out there. Of course, I don't say that. "how long do we have?" I ask, handing him another nail.
"Long enough, so long as you stop your daydreaming and help me."
It's my family's job to keep the wall up. Yes, it's tedious, but it's better than the alternative, and anyway, someone's gotta do it.
"There that's this done," Dad says stepping back to admire his work. "come on let's get back, your Mother will flip if we're late again"
I take one last look at our day's work, a real patch job if you ask me.
10 feet of wood, metal and anything we could find. Burn and scratch marks cover the whole thing, it won't stop them when they come.
We call them night stalkers, we don't know where they come from or why they don't come for us after the sun rises. All we know is they come at night and are hard to stop; that's why we have the wall, to slow them down, giving the warriors time to put them down one at a time. Almost like a big game of whack-a-mole.
Running to catch up, Dad and I make our way through the streets, passing rotting homes, rusted cars and a large building with shattered glass all over the front, which Dad told me was called a shop. It used to be filled with everything people needed: food and water, entertainment, and, I'm assuming, weapons. Now it lays bare and empty, the contents looted long ago, shelves and shutters used to reinforce the wall.
As we get closer to home the buildings are less rotten, all over the world buildings sit forgotten, being reclaimed by nature. These might just be the last ones standing. Albeit a little worse for wear but good enough for us.
