Read IMPACT (Book 1): A Post-Apocalyptic Tale for Free Online Page A

pointed their rifles at us. We tried to explain we were not sick, nor did we intend to cause any trouble. They fired a warning shot. It landed but a metre from Mathew, and left a tiny hole in the dirt. It hurts, for a man, for a father , to be vulnerable. To not be able to stand up for one’s self and family. I’m sure it’s similar for women, but I doubt it’s quite the same.
    “There were others there, too. No one was being let in. It must have been there that I heard of Bately, and how you were doing decently well. Yes, I remember now. It was an old man. His shoes were in tatters, he could hardly walk. Mathew offered to give him his own. I wouldn’t have allowed it, but I felt proud. His offer was sincere. The old man was touched. He refused the shoes, and told me to ‘take your young lad down to Bately. They’re handling things all right, over there.’ Then, he simply walked off, dragging his feet in the dirt. He looked so frail.
    “As we walked away, Mathew looked over his shoulder, back towards the old man. I noticed he had tears in his eyes. We didn’t talk about it. We rarely discuss this sort of thing.
    “In any case, we left Tonbridge and headed south-east along the A21. We stayed away from the road itself. There’s nowhere to hide along it. We followed side roads and crossed fields. In different circumstances, it would have been a very pleasant trek.
    “The second night, we found a small clearing amidst the cobnut trees, somewhere near Matfield. We lay our sleeping bags on the ground, and stared up at the sky. It looked like the shattered surface of some old mirror, criss-crossed by the trees’ branches. We slept better than we had in months.
    “But when we woke up, most of our food was gone. I think it must’ve been a fox. Mathew was brave. ‘We’ll find something, Dad,’ he said. He’s 16, my son. Anyway, by the time we came across the warehouse – it was just outside of Ashford – we were starving. We’d heard bad stories about Ashford, but I hoped we might find some food. When we got there, it started pouring; it was that thick, muddy rain we get from time to time since the impact. It was quite miserable. Then we found the warehouse, Rensworth Auto Spares . It was a large, rusty old thing. We made sure nobody was about, and crept inside,” Moore stopped, taking a shaky breath.
    “The spares were gone, except for some random bits and bobs on the dusty floor. Along the side walls, tall, wide shelves reached all the way up to the ceiling. It was very quiet, in there. I told Mathew to wait, and I walked over to the opposite end of the warehouse. There was another, smaller entrance, here. I peeked outside. This door was hidden behind a small wall and heaps of rotting cardboard boxes. That was good. Having two exits, one of which concealed, can be handy if you have to make a run for it. Then, Mathew called out. There was something in his voice that made me shudder. I turned and ran towards him.
    “‘L-look at this …’ he said, his voice shaking. I did. And I almost cried.
    “In one of the boxes, on the shelves, was tin upon tin of canned food. Soups, beans, fruit salads, you name it. There it all was, each one of them like a little, glorious gift from God. We never even thought of asking ourselves why they might be there,” Moore said with a bitter smile.
    “I set about preparing our sleeping area while Mathew opened the tins. I lay the sleeping bags out on one of the lower shelves, and placed boxes all around them, in what I thought would appear like a random layout, to ensure we wouldn’t be visible from either entrance.
    “We sat there, crossed legged on our sleeping bags, like children on a camping holiday, the treasured tins resting on our heels, as we scooped up their contents with our bare hands. We laughed as we ate. It’s strange, what satisfying your basic instincts can do to you. Couldn’t stop giggling.
    “It was food I’d never even have considered buying at the