Iron Wasteland

Following the accidental launch of every nuclear weapon on Earth after a computer virus crippled the world's systems, humanity has been decimated. With enough warning for people to enter special shelters throughout the world, the human race managed to endure.
For a hundred years the human race remained in the bunkers, until, when it was deemed safe enough to leave, they left them, reading to rebuild the human race. But in a radiation-filled world, dangers await around every crumbling corner.


2. Chapter 1: David


In the wastes of Britain, a few miles from the ruins of London, there stood a ramshackle settlement made up of corrugated iron and broken concrete.

It was home to about one hundred people – making it fairly large in terms of post-apocalypse Britain – and had become known as a town to its inhabitants.

Haven. That was what they called it.

It was a bustling community with a few shops, from which it traded with wanderers. The trading method was simple. Item exchanges.

If a person had something they didn’t want, they could trade it for something useful.

In this new world, the most valuable items were food and water, but weapons were sought after too.

I need to defend myself out in the wastes,” was the most common excuse, but it was likely the wanderers wanted the weapons for settling disputes, collecting debts or “acquiring” items.

The inhabitants of Haven were thankful that they had walls to hide behind.

With the wanderers and wild mutants of the wastes, the town’s inhabitants were happy to live and die without stepping far from the town.

The furthest anyone ever went outside the town walls was to the small piece of fertile ground where they grew food.

Surrounded by a small electric fence and kept under 24/7 watch, no one could steal from it.

In the town of Haven only one of the inhabitants was unhappy with his life there.

Daniel Moss was just an average sixteen-year-old boy. At least, average for the post-apocalyptic wastes.

Ever by his side was his faithful companion, Sniff.

Sniff was Daniel’s dog and best friend, who had accompanied him since they left the bunker ten years previous.

He was an old dog, but full of life, and remarkably healthy for a dog in post-apocalypse Britain.

Daniel remembered being given Sniff very clearly.

It had been whilst in the bunker, a short time before they were let out. An elderly woman had a Border Collie that gave birth to a litter of crossbred pups. Unable to care for all of them, she gave many of them away.

Daniel had given Sniff the name because of his obsession with smelling everything and anything.

But Daniel was getting fed up of life in Haven. He had no family left – they had been killed by wanderers whilst collecting food from the forage patch outside the town – and nothing to keep him inside the town.

His only issue was whether to leave or not.

It was unlikely the town’s “mayor” – a rather simple-minded man – would be happy about it either.

Sitting in the middle of the town – a small empty area of sandy stone with one old, metal bench that, through some miracle, survived the nuclear blasts – Daniel ran his hand through Sniff’s fur and sighed.

‘This town sucks,’ he muttered. ‘I bet it’s fun out there in the wastes. The constant threat probably makes is so much fun out there.’

Sniff whined and nudged Daniel’s leg with his head.

‘I know. You like it here. Mr. French gives you a few scraps of meat every now and again, and you can run around without anyone caring,’ Daniel said, mentioning the town’s butcher, who had a small pen of animals from which he got the meat. ‘But I just think there’s so much more to see.’

Sniff’s ears pricked up as the squeaking sound of the metal gates opening met his ears.

‘What’s that, Sniff?’ Daniel asked, jumping up.

Sniff barked and ran off up the small incline that led to the town gates.

When he got there he was forced to push through a small crowd that had gathered. Once he was through he saw what the commotion was about.

A wanderer had arrived in town, and he was like no other Daniel had ever seen.

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