I was twenty when the dragons came.
There was no warning. Everything I had known and loved was gone in an instant. And in the wake of the destruction, our planet was changed forever.
The dream wakes me the same way it always does, covered in sweat and a choked-off scream in my throat. I feel the exhaustion all the way to my bones. And the cold.
I drag myself out of bed reluctantly and light a fire in the camp stove. I try not to think about what might be fueling it. Most of the trees are gone now, and sometimes I trade meat for fire pellets at the marketplace. They’re made out of anything that will burn.
It’s been winter for eight years now, and I don’t think there are any scientists left to tell us when it might end. I used to hope they were hiding out in some underground shelter, trying to figure out how to get civilization going again. I stopped dreaming about that a long time ago.
My stomach rumbles, so as soon as my hands turn a warmer shade of blue, I rummage through my cabin for something to eat.
“Shit,” I breathe. Supplies are low. I don’t usually let that happen, but anniversaries can be hard, so I’d let my mind wander the last few days.
Before I can decide what miracle meal to make happen with the food I have left, something catches my attention outside. I grab my crossbow and carefully open the front door. The unholy racket continues, and I scan the property. In the end, I find what’s causing the noise and lower the crossbow.
“Dog!” I yell across the yard. “What are you doing?”
The gray, shaggy mutt looks at me and whines.
“Yeah, I’m hungry too. That doesn’t mean you have to tear up everything.”
Dog continues to whine and paw at some old junk left over from the time Before. Curious, I walk over to the tall, wolfhound looking mutt to see what he’s found. I lift my crossbow, just in case.
There doesn’t seem to be anything in the pile, though, but as I kneel and look closer, I spot it. Dog has managed to corner a squirrel in the debris. I press the button on my crossbow. Looks like Dog and me are having breakfast after all.
I’ve gotten used to the endless winter. It’s the constant worry about whether the dragons will come back that wears you down. No one knows where they are now. I haven’t seen one in a few years, but that’s little comfort.
When we’re through with breakfast, I wash up and think about Stephen, something else I don’t like to do. He was never who I thought he was, and I’ve got the scars to prove it. I glance in the broken mirror in the hall at one of the physical ones that will never heal. Something about the venom in the dragons’ claws.
There’s an angry look to the gash down my cheek, even though it’s been there for ten years now. Sometimes, it still burns. I stare at the red scar along my pale skin, thinking of the others hidden underneath my clothes and the day it happened. After a moment, I shake my head. There’s work to do.
My house is just an old travel trailer that someone used for family vacations in the Before. I smirk at the thought of vacations and how we squandered so much time. The house isn’t much, but it’s mine.
At least, until the Migration. Who knows what will happen to it then? Maybe it’ll be someone else’s when we get back.
I open the door, and Dog bounds back outside. Then I put on a few more layers of clothes and join him.
I dig a ladder out of the frozen ground and set it up against the roof. I try to dry off the rungs, but it’s almost impossible to get all of the ice off. Every step will be like taking my own life into my hands. Nothing I haven’t done a hundred times before.
With the crossbow slung at my hip and a hammer in my pocket, I carefully start my way up the ladder. The roof has started to leak, and I need to hammer down some nails that have come loose in the raging winds of the winter storms. I only manage to hammer a few, though.
“Hello?” a voice calls out, and Dog starts to bark.
I try to grab my crossbow and turn at the same time, but only manage to lose my grip on the ladder. I flounder, but my hands are too cold, even through the gloves, and the rungs too wet. I slip off the ladder and land on my back with a grunt, thanking my lucky stars for the freshly fallen snow.
“Oh my god,” a voice drifts over. The first one had been a woman’s voice, but this one is a man's. There are at least two of them.
I hear footsteps crunching in the snow, and quickly try to sit up and grab my bow. Apparently, I hit my head harder than I thought, though, and a wave of dizziness overtakes me. Then, I notice a small circle of red in the snow. Blood.
“That’s just great,” I grumble as the man and woman reach me.