April 12th, 2030
The pure snow engulphed the once sweltering hellscape of Tucson.
Nuclear winter has been kind to the cattle, despite some losses.
I cannot say the same for mankind.
I can recall the day, the markets were full of people who had no quarrel with the red enemy abroad. Despite that their shadows remain.
Now all that's left is me, my livestock, and those who wish to take it.
My path has been untampered thus far and I aim to keep it that way.
The cattle have grazed the fields of what remains of Texas and New Mexico, now they graze at my homestead in Arizona. Waiting for a cleaver to relieve them of their burden.
20 YEARS AGO
THE INVASION OF BRITAN
MAJOR JAMES MCDONALD 4TH INFANTRY BATTALION UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS.
The red mist met my face, the FNG had his head blown in by a S.A.S sniper after taking his helmet off. Now, what remained was left in my arms, like a sack of potatoes. The poor bastard never saw it coming. That's why the man we are after won’t either.
Standard procedure in a case like this is to call in air support and sit tight. But the thirst for blood overtook our need for comfort. 200 yards away sat a sniper, cozy with a cup of tea and a rifle in his hand. Just doing his job. As we did ours. Neither of us had any idea what the masters of war were up to. They just put a gun in our hands and hid from our eyes.
And that is what we told ourselves as we slithered through the houses, up the stairs, and drove our knives into an Englishman.
It was just work. And we were professionals.
April 13th, 2030
A uniformed man approached me with his hands surrendered to the wind. As he approached his appearance became more and more clear.
The pale face of the uniformed man was worn and old, used by time as a punching bag. He carried the rank of colonel back when rank mattered. I knew him and he knew me. He was the one man no one would touch in the wasteland. because if he didn't get home by nightfall the Davis Monthan Airforce Base would release hell in a 100-mile radius. All he wanted was livestock to feed his men and so I gave it to him, usually for bullets or the occasional rifle. But today was different. And his approach revealed more on his condition. today would mark the beginning of the end of the end. Because colonel Jordan was dying in my yard.
I brought his limp body in and put him on my dining room table.
He struggled to breathe. The bullet entered his back and made its home in his muscle.
“who”
“G-Gary wh- white”
“This is gonna hurt”
“I Know”
I grabbed the cleanest needle nose plyers I had and soaked them in the bottle of whiskey by my table.
His screams were unbearable but I had heard worse.
Once he was patched up I let him lay on my mattress.
And prepared my statement for the colonel’s Commanding Officer.
ns52.14.186.84da2
