Mutants had flocked to them.

They were frightened, traumatised, desperate.

Some brought human family members with them, parents, siblings, children, but most came alone or in pairs or small groups.

They set up tents at first, but gradually started building ramshackle houses and shelters amongst the trees.

Everyone pitched in, their own little community.

And then the first of the bombs fell.

It came without warning, smashing one of the little houses to pieces. The occupants – a family with a young daughter – were killed instantly.

They were the first, but they certainly weren't the last.

The bombs continued to fall.

People ran scared, snatching what little they could and fleeing into the trees.

And that was when the bullets started.