These were not good times friends.

The world was covered with ash and dust as often as it was covered with ice and snow.

A man walked in from the grey wastes, a land of ruins and fear, monuments to the times before. He walked and walked, his boots crunching in the dirt and ash.

His dog padded next to him.

It wasn’t originally his dog but one day the canine showed up and never left.

He had the look of a wanderer, of a man from the wastelands. His coat was long and thick, the better to keep the blowing dust and dirt from him. His hood over his head, pulled tight against his skull, helped with this. His pants were duck cloth, a tough fabric, but bore the patches of a garment mended many times.

His face though was what truly gave him away for his wandering ways. He wore goggles and scarf over his face, and looked like an alien to anyone in front of him.

He fashioned googles for the dog too. It took longer than he would have liked, but the dog seemed to appreciate it. He also tied a large scrap of cloth he found around the dog’s neck to keep some of the blowing sand off the dog.

He carried a pack as well. It held the few things he needed to survive, metal water bottle, a tarp, a blanket worn so thin it was more holes than blanket, a small knife, and a chunk of rock that sparked against the steel knife.

He also carried food, well scraps really. Meager potions, enough to last a week if he was lucky. Though, no one had been lucky in a long time.

The dog carried a pack, with his food. He didn’t seem to mind.

Water was the main thing. It’s what occupied a large portion of his thoughts during the day. He stopped when he found water. That was the rule.

Always stop.

Always.

He’d drink from places the dog sometimes caused the dog to take a second look.

But he needed water.

He was happy to make it through the wasteland. He heard the forest wasn’t much better, but at least there was water. Or so he hoped.

He wouldn’t leave until his metal water bottle was full. He also kept a plastic jug in the pack. It had sprung two leaks so far. He mended them but didn’t know if it would make it through a third.

And so he walked and walked along a flat road. He remembered roads like these when he was young. Used to be able to move much faster. But, sometimes the walking wasn’t so bad.

He found a pair of boots not long ago, they were caked with mud and dirt but they made the walking a little easier.

He looked back, looking at the two long trails, and thought about how far they’d come.

He had a second thought. A darker thought. A thought born from living in a wasteland. He made a trail that a blind man could follow. Anyone could come upon him in the night.

He signaled the dog with a slight nod and they moved off the road to the tree line. At least they’d be harder to follow.

They kept walking through the hazy day. He couldn’t see that far ahead. He decided to stop for the night. He took his googles off and his scarf. His face weathered from the years outside. He was barely into his third decade but he looked like a man twice his age. The sun and the wind carving deep lines into his tanned face.

He pulled out his stone and his knife and smack the stone gently along the knife’s spine casting sparks into a pile of charred wood. Finally, piece of charcoal caught and he placed the smoldering ember into a pile of twigs, blowing gently, until there was smoke billowing from the small bundle. Slowly, and then all at once, it burst into a small flame.

He placed the flame into some kindling and added sticks until he had a small fire. He poured some water into a cup and places a few pieces of meat and some roots. He ate slowly, and tossed pieces to the dog who ate them heartily even though he’d already eaten dinner.

He laid the blanket and the tarp down and curled up for a few hours. He woke after midnight to see the dog alert as usual. When the dog saw him awake the dog put his head down to sleep for awhile. They switched off a couple times through the night. Each watching for the other.

The next day was much the same.

He and the dog walked all day.

He stopped when he saw someone ahead of them. The dog growled, but he motioned to keep silent. He did, however, pull out the knife.

After a few steps he saw it was a woman and a small child. They were huddled under the woman’s coat. They had no supplies. It was easy to see what had happened. They were giving up. In a day or so they would be no more.

The man approached. He held our his arms to show no harm, and waited to see movement.

He’d seen people tricked this way. Any minute more of their group could run out and over take them. If he didn’t have the dog he’d forced to leave, but the dog signaled no other people.

He bend down, taking two cans of food from his pack, it was all he could spare, and placed them on the ground in front of them.

There was still no movement.

He and the dog started to leave, and he heard a muttered and weak, Thank you.

The man nodded.

And he and the dog continued. Off along the side of the road.

To wander some more.