by Johnny Firecloud
Rachel’s last words. I still can’t make them out, between the tortured screams. The sounds don’t make sense, and it’s keeping me awake.
Sleep doesn’t come easy for most anyone anymore. Not in nearly five years – since the impact, or the hysteria that followed. Then the nuclear volleys of cataclysmic devastation, nations plunged into paranoid chaos and leaders pointing warhead-tipped fingers for the population-decimating calamity, desperate to lay blame and focus fury for a rock hurtling through space that our planet happened to be in the way of. Communications went out at 5:19pm on December 6th, 2012, six hours and change after the meteor hit, obliterating Honduras with an interstellar stone the size of Los Angeles.
We don’t know if it was the bombing that took down the national power grid, or a deliberate act from within. It doesn’t matter. What good are conspiracy theories when starvation and murder surround us all? When the sky has been choked to a constant brownish grey, and the sun was, at best, a glare in the haze. When next to nothing grows, and even the most prepared have long since run through their survival supplies, a desperation rises that’s simply inconceivable to the sane. Any faint trace of food ignites a survival battle to obtain.