Requiem For The Sun: A Heart Wrenching Post-Apocalyptic Tale With Soul by Benjamin Charles

Author:Benjamin Charles [Charles, Benjamin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Benjamin E. Charles
Published: 2024-02-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

James’ boots scuffed the cracked earth, his gait slowing as the sun dipped below the horizon. Sarah’s shoulders slumped, her breaths shallow with fatigue. Lucille massaged her aching wrists, a silent signal to the weary group. With a collective, unspoken agreement, they began to clear a space for their camp, the night’s stillness wrapping around them like a heavy shroud.

While Lucille and the children began gathering fallen branches and twigs for the fire, James dropped their heavy packs and took stock of their dwindling supplies. They were almost running low on food again. He made a mental note to set snares in the morning. Rabbits and squirrels still inhabited these woods, and their meat would help sustain the group in the days ahead. He ran his hand over his beard, feeling the coarse hairs. It had been weeks since he’d shaved. Grooming had fallen low on the priority list ever since the winds ravaged the earth.

Sarah leaned back against the rough bark of a tree trunk, her gaze lingering on the flurry of activity before her. With each passing moment, the dull throbbing in her lower stomach became more insistent, a rhythmic reminder of her body’s rebellion. She shifted, trying to ease the gnaw of pain in her hips that had grown sharper than the morning chill. Her hands, once steady and sure, now rested on her abdomen, betraying her desire to join in the hard work. A twinge of guilt tugged at her chest as she watched James hoist another bundle of supplies, his muscles flexing under the strain. She longed to be by his side, lifting, carrying, contributing, but her body was a traitor, sentencing her to the sidelines. When Lucille finished constructing the stone circle for their campfire, Sarah pushed herself up, determined to make herself useful. She walked over to where the packs were dropped, each step still requiring focused effort. Rifling through their gear, she located the pot and utensils to begin preparing a small meal.

Once the campfire was crackling, Sarah placed the pot over it and opened a dented can of beans. She added some wild mushrooms and the last strips of dried venison to the beans, hoping to make the ingredients into a hearty stew. As the concoction simmered, she gazed absently into the flames. Her mind turned to a past friend, Rachel, who had been lost to the cult months before. She wondered if she was staring into a fire now, wherever she was. Did she regret her choice to abandon everyone for the nonsensical ravings of a madman who called himself Sebastian The Prophet? Rachel had been convinced that technology was a plague upon humanity and that salvation would only come through relinquishing all vestiges of the industrialised world.

Sarah understood that kind of desperation, the aching need to believe that all this suffering had meaning. But not at such a terrible price. She looked over at Lucille, who was showing the children how to weave pine needles into small baskets.

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