Chapter One: A Splotch

Adam's Perspective

I woke up to the sound of rocks being crunched under feet.

I jumped out of my cot, throwing my blanket to the side. I stood up with a jolt and saw my dad with a box in his hands, looking cross in my "living space".

My name is Adam Feinstein. I am a sixteen-year-old on the run. The leaders of my self-declared nation have called me a fugitive, one who allegedly expelled the mentally unstable heir of the kingdom to the wastelands.

I lived a quiet life, in a small cave out of most people's view. I sleep, eat, work, and live all alone, encountering other humans only every Sunday morning, when either my dad or best friend Aleph would come and deliver resources for me. I occasionally could score a few precious hours with Aleph on the weekends, when we could hang out in and around the cave, but nothing more than that.

The self-declared nation I lived in was known as "The Kingdom of Cambria", ruled by the leaders of the Cambrians, a wealthy family living in our gorge, Fremont Valley, that was renowned for their production of dairy products before the war. Now that the U.S government had been incinerated, the Cambrians took power of our valley, and established a monarchy ruled by the leader of the Cambrian empire: Zacharias Jonah Cambrian.

The other members of the family included Zacharias' wife Elinor Cambrian, John Cambrian, the oldest son of Zacharias and Elinor who ran off a few months ago with one of the Cambrians' safe-suits, and Marie Lyra Cambrian, the vilest and most power hungry of the clan, who's the daughter of Zacharias and some other woman.

The clan ruled our valley loosely, only cracking down on those who went against the Cambrians' policies by using The Cambrians' Royal Guard Forces, often called the Royal Police by most residents. But in recent months, rules for the citizens have become much stricter, thanks to Marie and her tyrannical campaigns.

I was accused of expelling John because I was the most critical of him in the whole valley. He was a middle-aged adult, but he acted like a spoilt child, almost like his sister, except Marie at least was little bit more remorseful than him. His obsessive behavior was sickening for every single resident of the gorge, carping the tiniest mistakes, throwing tantrums, and faking mental breakdowns in front of everyone. I criticized him on several occasions, even making him cry once. The Royal Police never did anything about my panning of John, probably because they hated him too.

I walked towards my dad in my "living space", which was much more like an office, but had the feel of a living room. He looked impatient and upset, as if he was disappointed in me.

"Hey dad. Thanks for the package," I said. I preferred Aleph to deliver the packages, since he wasn't at all like my dad, and was much more optimistic and open to communicating to me.

"You're welcome," he said solemnly. My father was a serious man, stricken with a permanent scowl on his face ever since my mom, Rose, had passed away. She was outside of the valley, out on a shopping trip in Ogden when the bombings came. Me and my brother surprisingly recovered from her death, but my father, a previously happy and jokey man, had become a permanent statue of sadness. I shivered with guilt as I took his package and brought it over to my desk.

I opened the box and saw a carton of eggs, a bundle of fresh vegetables, a selection of fruit in a container, and a book entitled Diary of a Young Girl.

I recognized the book as Anne Frank's diary, the book that told the story of Anne Frank and her life under Nazi occupation. Suddenly a tear dripped out of my cheek, like the first droplet of rain in a rainstorm. Anne had died in World War Two because of other people's actions. My mom, grandparents, and almost every other human on Earth who couldn't cower away in protective valleys had died in World War Three. Even though so many people warned the U.S and Soviet Union of irreversible effects caused by nuclear war, someone decided to press the nuclear button and let the bioweaponry out anyways. Humanity didn't learn their lesson and got a horrible punishment because of the human race's stupidity.

"Why are you crying Adam?" My father asked. "Men don't cry like that. They don't even cry. They power through their problems like men."

"It's nothing…" I replied sadly, as I shooed him away. "Thank you for the package dad. You're the best."

He left the cave promptly, limping his way out for some reason. I took the food and stored it into the cool alcove in the cave that could store food like a freezer. I put Diary of a Young Girl on my desk, next to my other books.

I took a glance around my cave before I went outside. Off on the far wall was my cot, where thin bedsheets lay messily, and a small cranny where I stored my favourite books: 1964, by George Orwell, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, by Jules Verne, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll, and Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen. To the left stood my wood desk, where about thirty books sat undisturbed, and a fold-up chair. To the right was the alcove where I stored my food and a shelf where I could prepare food, along with a corridor to another cave in the cliff, one with a hole in the ceiling, perfect for cooking in. All around the cave were candles that illuminated the dark cavern.

I exited the cave through a small passageway that was hidden from the town and Cambrian residence by trees of the forest. Streams of sunlight blinded me as I began climbing on the ledge the entrance to my cave sat on. It was wide enough for a human to comfortably climb up, but the ledge appeared so jagged that from afar, people would think it would be impossible to climb on. But contrary to what most people knew, the ledge was quite smooth, so climbing really wasn't much of an effort.

I had to climb low to avoid being seen by people from afar. My cave was at a much lower height, so I could safely stand and ascent the cliff without being seen when hiking towards my cave, but above, the trees couldn't hide anyone, so I had to stay concealed somehow.

After a long trek, I reached the top of the cliff. Foliage, trees, and grass were here, so I could safely hide behind a bush and do basically whatever I wanted. Today, I was observing the valley, looking at the people below do their day's worth of work. I perched myself behind a large blackberry bush underneath a wide-reaching maple, so I could stay in the shade. I looked through my binoculars and began observing the people do their work.

The town in the valley, also named Fremont, was in the centre of the vale. Farmland owned by the farmers covered the land in the south, and a large forest (the one that hides my cave) covered the southern portion of the valley. To the east, the metamorphic rock of the cliffs stood bare, with a small entrance to the valley located in the rock. Another entrance existed here in the north, behind all the trees and undergrowth, but nobody but me and Aleph knew about it. To the west lay what we called the Death Forest, a forest filled with dead trees with no leaves. The dead trees had existed even before the war, so many of us kids made rumors about monsters and ghosts living in the Death Forest. Nobody really knew why the trees were dead, yet the trees still stand today, like sad reminders of how even before the war, life wasn't that great.

In the town square I saw many recognizable figures I knew. Mrs. Smith, the town baker, set bread and other treats in her display case. Sienna, a former friend of mine was skipping down the street, appearing to be shopping for apparels. A platoon of the Royal Police was positioned near the central well.

I continued looking at town square and even other parts of town until I got sick of it and I laid down in the grass, looking at the blue sky. I took deep breaths, smelling the air like the dog from months ago who came out of nowhere. I was still living with my family when the dog appeared. He had a keen sense of smell and could track people easily, including Marie, who was not impressed when the dog started smelling her purse! He was a cute dog, but he ran away, near the day John Cambrian left the valley. The most memorable memory I had of him was when I named him. A deep feeling inside of me told me to call him Faro for some reason.

I sat up and turned to the right, where the valley was located. It was full of greenery and life, like a festival full of colours. I turned my head to the left, into the deadness. Only hues of grey existed here, black, soot, and grey blending in like a smudged black-and-white photograph on a rainy day. But then, I noticed something different in the deadness. A faint splotch of colour moved in the sea of grey, like a red sailboat in a storm. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, so I blinked several times and refocused my eyes. The splotch was still moving, faster than ever. I took the binoculars and looked through them.

A person was walking towards the valley, with a wagon in tow