Not far anymore!
You and your group of fellow scavengers almost made it home to the "Citadel" from yet another run into the remains of what once was society.
Your backpacks are heavy with loot: Medicine, vitamins and other treasures that will bring the inhabitants of the Citadel over yet another endless winter and you cherish the imagination of happy, thankful smiles upon your arrival.
But then a sound sends chills down your spine as the howling of wolves did with your ancestors: HOWLERS!
Your group stops, checking all directions for the first sign of the nightmarish creatures.
None visible yet, but that does not mean much!
"How many bullets each of you have?" your group leader demands to know and makes a decision.
He points at you and another group member:
"Give us your packs, take the last three molotov cocktails! Try to hold them back for at least 5 minutes. I`ll be enough for us to get home!"
You see the wisdom of the decision and hand over your pack to the others, you give a short but meaningful goodbye to your life partner and then see the group off.
You hide behind a rusty car, holding the fire bottles close to your chest while the other team member keeps lookout!
Then a whisper: "I see them!"
You steady yourself: Everything for the group!
You rise and hold the first molotov cocktail to the other:
"Light them up! The group must live!"
"the group must live!"
The other replied and started patting himself down.....with a facial expression close to desperation.
"What`s wrong?!" you demand
"my...my matches...I dont have them! Must have lost them at the library!"
You stare disbelieving at the fool, he doomed you and the group trying to make it home with lifesaving supplies.
"I...I have my firesteel!" the other says and desperatly tries to set fire to the fire bottles gasoline soaked rag with a few weak sparks.
You close your eyes.
Forgive me you pray and hope that your end will be painless.
Then a bright light penetrates your eyelids and you open your eyes:
A beam of fire, as bright and blue as an angels avenging sword.
As unforgiving as a spaceships plasma drive.
It originates from a small lighter held by a very familiar hand.
"I thought you might appreciate a helping hand!"
Your life partner says and smiles cocky.
Quickly you lob the 3 fire bottles toward the ever closing line of howlers and run,knowing that the fire will delay their approach enough to get home safe.
Hand in hand you run, happy to live yet another day!