A few months after the ship made land…

He went through his usual routine of checking his shack for bugs and other listening devices or hidden cameras. No need to let the bad guys keep their eyes and ears. Once he believed it was safe, he opened the fridge and grabbed the box of cereal. The fridge was one of his greatest finds while out venturing in the wastes. It hadn't been destroyed and the lead lining kept the food relatively radioactive-free. Most would slaughter villages for this luxury, but he wasn't part of a village. No need to put risk on other people. Innocent people.

Zack was loved by few and hated by many. He had gained a reputation of never failing through the odd jobs he did here and there for the two main factions of the post-apocalyptic Washington D.C., the Brotherhood and the Purifiers. The purifiers were hell-bent on purebred human domination. They believed that anyone with any hint of radiation was inferior to them and deserved to die, which is why they never venture outside without their powered suits of armor on. He had been sent on retrievals, assassinations, reconnaissance, sabotage, and assorted other things. Each and every time, no matter who the job was for, he turned it in on time and never missed a shot.

His arsenal consisted of a rifle with a sound dampener (just in case) and a grenade launcher (for special occasions), a sniper's rifle, some explosive ordnance (i.e. grenades, plastic explosives like C4 and semtex), and a large katana originally meant to be a collector's item. He had placed mines around his house that detonated on contact to keep out unwanted outsiders since he was the only one who knew his way through the maze of death. Another rare find was his armor, a shielded power suit that he chanced upon in an old abandoned lab underneath the Pentagon, now partially leveled. His favorite feature was the built-in shield that (although it was still in its experimental stage) deflected most small-arms fire and recharged relatively quickly. Though it seemed to have been running low on energy as of, Zack still had faith in it. Compared to most, he was a walking army and extremely well equipped and defended considering most people guarded what was left of their houses with a broken stick and a single bullet.

Today, he wanted to pay a special visit to a few people who had caused him immense grief a few months back. He picked up his sniper rifle and slung it across his back, picked up his assault rifle, and headed out for a dish he was always told was best served cold. Revenge.

The road to the raider's encampment on the Potomac was a bit of a walk but the quickest route was to walk through an old suburb in which the main street ran adjacent to the river. After following the street to its end where it met the barren wastes of sand again, he would slowly merge until he was walking along the river itself and follow it the rest of the way down to the campsite. Zack made sure to pack snacks.

It took a while but Zack finally came across the bridge that signified the end of his island territory and the way back to the mainland. His shack was located on an island in the middle of a small lake that was on the other side of the suburb, opposite the Potomac, and it was raised well above the water, as was the suburb. The exception being that the beach on the suburb's side was a gentle slope whereas his island's was a sharp cliff. A pedestrian bridge spanned the distance in between since the island was too small for several cars or buildings and was used more as a park back before hell became life.

He crossed, most uneventfully, and began his journey through a prime example of the dying world he lived in. The buildings that still stood were inhabited by people who were so skinny they made the Ethiopians look morbidly obese. They twitched at everything that moved and weakly held onto their children and some to their weapons, which were nothing more than sharp sticks and crude slingshots with pebbles. These people looked as if they should already be dead and yet they still clung to life. Why? Was there love in this hell somewhere? Was there still hope left in the masses?

Deep down Zack wanted desperately to help these people but he knew he couldn't because once he saved one family he wouldn't stop. He didn't have the land to house and maintain such a large family. He pressed on through the city, trying his best not to look at the people walking outside to view this outsider who made the only noise along the desolate streets. Not even the wind dared to whisper where this living man walked among the dead. They were soulless; no drive in life other than humanly instincts to survive. He still wondered if there was more to it but he forced himself to shut the thought down.

[***]

After walking for about three hours, Zack came upon the river. Only a few more miles now, he thought. He continued down the river, waiting for the telltale pikes atop the roofs and the stench of foul death to become apparent. Those omens marked his presence in the Raiders' territory and marked a time for vigilance. If he wasn't alert at the most crucial time in the entire op, he would lose his chance and most likely his life. Not good.

Almost to the camp, Zack popped open an energy drink and drained it in seconds, burping a little loudly for the present situation after he finished it. Even the sun seemed to have an upbeat air surrounding it; though it was the very thing most people feared the most. Searing heat and blinding light were its only gifts and people have forgotten how much of a blessing those were when the world was alive. Only a few months it had been since the warheads launched from all known landmasses and most oceanic territories were brought down upon each and everyone else. That's when he spotted it. The rotting death trap that was base of operations to evil men with dead spirits. They killed for fun, they killed in a way we watch TV now. It was something they did because it consumed their time and made them forget all that it was to be in this desolate land. They were compared to death himself in how much life they took. He set up camp on a ridge overlooking the hellhole and slept away the few remaining hours of daylight. Come nighttime, he had work to do.

Uhm... hi everybody. Long time no post yet again huh? Yeah I was in the process of transferring my late night ideas over onto my Mac form my laptop and I cam across an almost-finished chapter for my post-apocalyptic story. I had decided a while back that I didn't like where the story had gone (and informed you all of this notion in one of my more recent author's notes) and was going to rewrite it. Well this was my attempt at doing so and before you say it, yes I know it was basically a very fleshed out description of a few things on the march to vengeance. Oh freaking well, I like it. Next chapter he will be planning, setting up, and executing his assault and we'll see where Zack goes from there. I'm trying to make my stories a little lengthier because I finally realized after around my 3rd or 4th one-shot/unfinished chapter idea that I was going for quantity over quality and as thus have decided to add lots more detail and story and plot and all-around goodie goodness to my stories from now on. What bugs me is that I have so many ideas for where a story can go but they all take place later in the plot and you can't just jump from place to place like that. Or at least I can't function like that, I'm not sure. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this and you can expect an update to Recollections quite soon and I will be posting one-shots and ideas wondering if you like them and want me to turn them into full-fledged (that has to be my 10th hyphen good lord) stories. Thank you all and to all a good night. Or day if you're in the Eastern Hemisphere. I love you all.

- Ryan