The village had been obscured by clouds on the plateau of the mountain top, it was small, but it was a beginning, search parties went around the surrounding forests, trying to find any other humans that were left. Rarely did they find anyone, but when they did, it was greatly celebrated. There was close to 60 humans in it, and life was good within this small little settlement they had erected in the wastes.
At night all of the village would huddle around the giant campfire they had made and would cook meat from animals they had killed that day, they would dance, sing, and tell stories from different books they found. They were the survivors, even though none of them had lived during the time of the war, they were the inheritors of what had befallen their ancestors.
During the day the village would separate into different groups, 10 hunted, 20 gathered, 10 built, 10 went and searched the surrounding areas for different things, prewar technology, and any survivors. The last ten were the inventors, a group of folks using old technology to create new things to help this little town of theirs.
George was one of the searchers; he was a youngling, something that was very rare in the village, the radiation that was a result from the bombs made having children very rare, but from time to time, it did happen. And when it did happen, that child was often praised, and an arranged marriage was had with any other child that had been born. Through this selective breeding, they hoped to bring back humanity's fertility, and perhaps one day having children would not be a rarity at all.
Life within this secluded village was a routine to say the least, each morning the people would rise from slumber and meet at the campfire where they would cook and split up into their different groups and talk about the day's schedule. When the day was done, they had several hours of downtime of which they could do anything they pleased as long as it harmed none.
They played sports, wrote in their journals, the women gutted the fish and deer the men had caught that day, and fiddled with any technology they had scrounged up that day. Then at the end when dinner was done and the villagers were satisfied with their meals they would go off into their huts, fall into a deep slumber, then rise early in the morning to repeat the whole process over again.
It was the same thing over and over, but after a time it became peaceful, it was surely better than the alternative, waiting for hunger to set in and kill you slowly or worst, be dragged away into the night by the mutated creatures that still roamed the land. He was a native of the village, having been born into it only 16 short years ago, and at an early age he'd been the one the girls had whispered about and giggled about whenever he was near.
During school, when the village elders would talk to the kids about different things, the girls had always commemorated him on his blonde locks of long hair and physique. Though he rarely took the comments seriously, none of the girls in their town had ever managed to strike his fancy; they were dull girly girls that had blank round faces and still played with dolls.
Now George stood there in the center of this abandoned town, slightly phased out from reality and in his own little world. The houses were burnt down and the smell of burnt meat and ash filled his nostrils, upon arrival he had nearly vomited the breakfast he had ate that morning, but was able to hold it down in the back of his throat. But most of the others had vomited.
This town was one of their trade routes, when they were gone for weeks at a time they made routes throughout the different towns, tradinng whatever they had on them. There were able to get decently valuable things from the surrounding area, enough to earn the praise of their town when they came back from their long expeditions.
This was the last village on their loop, they were hundreds of miles away from home, but he had expected a very good night's rest in the inn here, but he was only greeted by the putrid smell of burning and rotten bodies. After burying their brother's dead bodies, whether they were burnt or not.
After burying them, they had gone about searching the ruins for any valuable possessions, or perhaps any food that had been left behind, it was unlikely they would find anything, but it was worth a shot. If anything was worth of value in this crisped town, or any clues of why it was burnt to the ground, then it was definitely worth looking.
He snapped back from the phase he had been in, seeing the glares of his hard at work friends.
"Get back to work George! Ya blonde bum!" One cried, he sneered but did as the man requested and went to the nearest building that had not been checked.
After searching the embers of the top floor, burning his hands and arms from pushing away the still fiery ashes, he found nothing worth of true value besides few knick knacks. Exiting the house and going to the back, he found a cellar door, and in hopes of find a storage house filled with food, he tried to open it. But found it barred.
After going back to the unmarked graves and retrieving one of the many shovels, he had gone back to this cellar and stroke it open with the iron spade. Only to hear a scream come from the cellar.