I looked down at my hands, bruised and cut from fighting off the bandits. You get two kinds of gypsies in this world of ours. And these men were not the nice kind. There were two of them trying to take fruit from a woman who was foraging alone. Foraging alone is not safe for most people, but I've become stronger since I lost my sister. Through rigorous training I can now take on three or even four men at a time, and I can kill a beast with just a spear. The woman I had helped disappeared long before I could see her face but I understand why she ran. Trust no-one. This world is treacherous.

'Ow… I have to disinfect these cuts and strap my arm up, I'm sure there's some alcohol here somewhere.'

I found some vodka in a backpack on a forage a few days ago. The backpack was too torn to use for travel and mine was pretty rugged after I made some tweaks to it. Survival is key these days, the world is basically being blown to pieces bit by bit and I'm on a fucking time limit to get to her and get her to the last shuttle. The year is 2097, I'm 23 and my sister is 12. I lost Shilo when we got separated by a herd of mutated horses. They were larger than a Friesan with claws instead of hooves. They flew like birds but were deadlier than any other predator. Shilo was ushered into a plane and flown South, I stayed behind with a few brave gypsies trying to fend off the horde of horses. They knew no better. I knew no better. They were predators. I was a survivor and I had been born into a life of running and fighting. The other two didn't make it, but I went back to bury them later. Traditionally, with stones to protect their bodies from scavengers. People and animals fit into three categories here. Predator, Prey or Scavenger. You don't get to decide which you are, you just are.

Apparently, it was better a century ago, my grandmother was one of the first Warrior Gypsys. One of the legends. They fought with all their might against the ones who had turned against the world. The greedy ones. I call them snobs like my grandmother used to, but there is really no term for them. They're just cruel, selfish humans who turned their back on their own people in order to appease an idol that didn't exist. There's basically 3% of the population left. Something called chemical warfare, like a magic purple rain that killed everyone in seconds. My gran died in 2028, the year of the Purple Rain. Everyone left has been trying to survive on the landscape that was left behind after The Great War. I can't imagine what it was like, but some people have books with stories and pictures of the countries that thrived before. I still don't know how we survived. 'Fuck this stings! Okay just strap it up and sit down.' I talk to myself a lot, I'm sure most do it too if you've been alone for a long time. The isolation is similar to the outbreak I read about in 2020 where people had to avoid contact to reduce the spread of some virus. I can't read very well, but most people my age can't. Some of the older folks could but their immune systems were too weak for the Ruins so they died out. The Ruins was what they named the leftover cities and houses. There were usually a lot of scavengers there but if you could fight well enough, you'd find a lot of food or useful items depending on the toxicity level of the area... Weapons, food and water are vital for survival out here.

I hear a rustle behind me and swing around grabbing my knife in the same motion to be met with another woman. Another knife. Blade to blade, our eyes meet, her eyes were amber and onyx like mine.