Our parents told us stories of when the cities were filled with people. They talked about how they would wait until dawn to go out, then dash from building to building, feeling the burn of the sun on their skin. Not now. Not since the Rage.

They said it started in a bar called Solarlios. There was poison in the drinks, but it didn’t kill those who drank it. It changed them, filled them with a rage so unquenchable that they destroy everything in their path. And it made them stronger.

Now, the cities are empty. The whole country is empty. We live where we can, in the shells of old buildings, not quite destroyed by Ragers and in armoured compounds in expanses of nothingness. We eat what we can find. We sleep in shifts.

When it began and our parents first began to run, there were forty people in our community. Now there are four. Some, we lost. Some, we left behind. Last week, the Rage took Anna. She’s still out there. We can hear her, tearing at the boarded windows of the building across the street. Screaming.

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