The sight that greeted my eyes was straight out of either an war movie or the walking dead. The farm house was burnt to the ground, the stall was aflame, I could hear the horses neighing. My first throught was to search the house but I forced myself to head to the stables. People could escape, horses couldn't. I wrapped my shirt around my mouth and nose like a scarf; I didn't want to inhale any smoke.
I burst into the stall; the horses were rearing up wildly, but thankfully none were burnt. Luck was on my side; none of them had fainted yet. I left the door open and one by one opened the stalls, they all came racing out; that's why I freed them one by one; it would have been too diffecult to dodge all their raging hooves. I was pretty sure this was the last time I'd see them.
In seconds the stable was clear. I ran out after the horses and sprinted to the house. The roof had already fallen in on the left side. I prayed to God that nobody was there. In order to save myself I forced myself to run back outside and breathe fresh air after running into each individual room. But I didn't find anybody. I started to walk through the fields, behind to the shacks, calling their names.
I headed for the building with the rolls royce and I found the door opened; the car was gone. I was relieved that they'd escaped, but my relief was cut short when I realized that they probably hadn't. It was almost surely an attack, and this by other people not mutations, they'd taken my friends hostage and stolen valuables. They'd probably left the horses to die because they'd be hard to control.
"Fucking hell." I whispered under my breath. I was back at day 1, no friends, no family and no Joline. I was fucked to put it honestly. I couldn't rebuild a farm by myself, most of the crops had been torched as well, and there was no way in all of fucking America that I could find my friends. Even if I followed the car tracks I'd never make it there on time.
It was all pointless. There was only one small shimmer of hope; maybe, just maybe, the radio the german had crafted was still around, and with that radio, communication with others could be possible. I searched through the rummage of his room and I quickly found it. It was fine.
I headed outside with the box under my arm and sat on the street, watching the fires blaze, burning down my home.
And then a terrible thought occured in my mind; what about Chris? Would they have gone to get him too? He was at a neighboring farm, why not? But then I realized I would have passed them on the way here. No, Chris was safe.
Should I go back to his place? Probably. So without thinking further I picked up the radio and started my way back to Chris house. I didn't look back once. I think it was the shock, I was engulfed by it, and I couldn't break free. Somehow the burning of my farm shocked me more than the WWIII and more than the Narts. It wasn't surreal, it was a completely fathonable thing. But somehow to me it was other-wordly.
I rung the door at Chris's house about an hour and a half later. When he opened it he looked at me in suprise. I was covered in soot and ash.
"What happened Mack?"
"The fucking farm burnt down."
"What?"
"Can I stay here?"
"Of course you can son!" Worridly he let me inside. I dropped the radio off, and the guns, and I headed for his kitchen. I poured myself a Schnaps. "Do you want to talk about this?"