When the cities collapsed, we fled to a coastal town. The hard full stop of the water provided a comforting certainty.
Life was great to begin with. We lit fires, and cooked fish straight from the sea. Combine that with the canned food and bottled water, and our group was set for years.
Then they arrived on quad bikes. Their scavenged clothes still had an element of uniform to them. Their engines roar from the absolute last of the petrol. I have learnt to run. At least in the caves there is enough space to hide.
They rule the beach now. Their fires are orange towers, and the smell of cooking meat beats even the seaweed. But I do not think their meals once lived in the ocean.
