The family marched through the pines. A howl from the distance. The rain stopped and the sun began to shine. The golden rays of light peering through the pines onto the forest floor. A rainbow appeared. Another howl from the distance. Tears left trails under the eyes of the boy’s dirty face. His blue eyes reddened from the crying. His mother, father and sister all dead. Alone. The family would look after him. They must. Their destination was getting closer. Hope filled their hearts. They stopped to camp for the night. Howls. Screams. Darkness fell. No moonlight. No stars. A blanket of clouds. Cold, but dry. Beans, onions and pine needle tea. Dinner.
The light of dawn and the sounds of the wilderness awoke the family. Birds chirped. Crows cawed. Dogs barked in the distance. Someone was gone. Only ten in the camp. A man was missing. No howls. No yells. The bag of food was gone! Nothing to eat. Thief! Traitor! Deserter!
Demoralized, the family packed up camp. They continued their journey. They came upon a stream. Clear, cold water. They washed their faces and hands. Filled the water bladders. Drank till they couldn’t drink anymore. Small trout were seen in the stream. Delicious. They stared at the fish. The water was so cold. Empty stomachs full of water. The remaining two men and the teenage boy went to scout upstream. The women collected pine needles. They made tea while the men were gone. The men found onions. They replenished their supply of wild onions. They drank pine needle tea and ate onions. They continued on their quest. They must.
The family followed the stream. No howls. Sunny. Warmer than days past. They walked. They came to a crumbling bridge over the stream. A car partly submerged in the stream under the bridge. The bridge had been washed-out. The men went to inspect the vehicle. The water was waist deep. They removed their clothes. Waded out into the water. Cold. Very cold. The two men reached the vehicle. They looked inside. Skeletal remains. Clothes. One man opened the back door. He pulled a skeleton from the car. He waded back to the shore. He removed the clothes from the bones. The clothes were in good condition. Wet, but better than they had. It was a female. The five women divided the clothing. Socks. Shoes. Panties. Shirt. Coat. Jeans. Bra. Wool hat. Another skeleton was pulled from the car. A male. The two men and teenage boy divided the dead man’s clothes. They opened the trunk. Food! Lots of food! A gun! Decayed smiles. Hope. Happiness. Answered prayers.
The family made camp under the bridge. They felt safe. Nobody had scavenged the vehicle. Unoccupied territory. They inventoried the items from the trunk. The trunk was above water. Everything was dry. A 12-gauge shotgun. A box of shells. Cans of food. Bottles of water. Cigarettes. A suitcase full of clothes. A tire tool. Sustenance. Hope. Faith. God, thanks. They ate till full. New clothing for all. Warmth. Quenched thirst. Satisfied appetites. Clean faces. They slept well.
The dawn of a new day brought anticipation to the family. They ate well. They were warm. Their destination was closer every day. Their journey continued through the forest. Silence. No howls. No chirps. No barks. No caws. No screams. Just the sounds of their footsteps and the running water of the stream. An occasional turtle splashed into the water as they approached. After several hours, the trees cleared and opened up to a concrete jungle. A city. A ghost town. So quiet. Vacant. Dangerous. The family wondered which city they had arrived at. During their voyage, they had passed through several cities. Most were death traps and avoided when possible.
The man with the shotgun led the way. The city was overgrown with vegetation. So much danger. Packs of wild dogs were always a concern, both in the city and bushwhacking. Every family member readied the weapon they possessed. Cities were more dangerous than the countryside. This city was larger than most. A former metropolis. It would’ve been avoided if not for the loaded shotgun. Guns were rare, very rare. The Muds did not have guns. Nobody had guns. The shotgun had been well maintained. A great find. A treasure. The family would have the upper hand in any battle.
Liberals campaigned feverishly to convince the masses that gun bans would eliminate violent crime. When Democrats politically took control of Congress and the Supreme Court, one of their first acts was the abolishment of the Second Amendment, thus making possession of a firearm a felony.
Firearms were banned in the United States in 2025. Possession of a firearm was punishable by a mandatory ten-year prison sentence without the possibility of parole. Furthermore, if firearms were discovered in a residence or a vehicle, the property was forfeited to the state without appeal. Crimes committed involving a firearm resulted in a mandatory life sentence. Gun manufacturing was punishable by death.
The family scurried through the streets like mice, careful to take cover at every turn. They were vulnerable. Vegetation covered the streets and buildings. Rats and roaches were everywhere. The feral cats and dogs ate well. Better than the Paleskins.
The family followed the man with the shotgun. The town had obviously been deserted for some time. Years. The structures had all been looted. Many had been set on fire. The group moved further into town. Erosion. Buildings got taller. Vines got longer. Cats and rats got bigger. Their location was uncertain. Salt Lake City? Denver? Colorado Springs? Where they were was a mystery. Where they were not was Home. They cautiously continued through the city.
The town was barren. They walked the streets. Alert. The man with the gun looked for buildings without kicked-in doors and broken windows. An alleyway. At the end of the alley was a door. Two- story building. He led the family down the alley. Walls on both sides. One wall was red brick. The other concrete. Weeds and vines. Bugs and rats. They came to the door. A steel door. The man tried to turn the knob. Locked. The door was untarnished. Solid. A light blue in color. The man kicked. Wham! Kicked again. Thud! Nothing. No windows on the lower level. He kicked again. Bam! Nothing. The building was constructed well. Late 20th century. All the windows were on the second story. Another kick. Boom! Nothing. The teen kicked the door twice. Whop! Whop! Nothing. The door, and the frame it was hinged on were solid. For the next thirty minutes the three males kicked and shouldered the door. Finally, it budged. Five kicks later. Crash! The frame gave way.
The man with the shotgun stepped inside. Sunbeams lit the room. An old office building. Spider webs covered the room. Dust inches thick. The squeaks of mice and rats. Roaches scattered. Four or five desks in the office. No signs of rummage. The family searched the contents of the office. They pocketed anything useful. The man with the shotgun climbed the stairwell to the second story. The teenage boy with a tire tool in hand followed closely behind. Four doors. All unopened.
The man with the shotgun cautiously opened each door. Behind three doors were bedrooms. The fourth door was a bathroom. Each bedroom was furnished with a bed, dresser and television. A good place to rest for a day or two. It had been months since any had slept in a bed. For some, it had been years. The building’s blue front door was closed and blocked by a heavy desk. The man with the shotgun stood guard while the others slept.
While on guard duty, the man went through the desk drawers. Paper became a bygone midway through the 21st century. Everything was stored digitally. Environmental laws prevented the use of trees for paper. Phone books and paper advertisements were a relic of the past. Nothing of interest. He leaned back in the comfortable office chair and closed his eyes. He fell asleep.
The following morning, the family ate breakfast before they exited the building. They were well rested. One by one, they walked through the door and into the alley. Their relaxation was brief. Rejuvenated. Alert. Survival.
At the end of the alley, the man with the shotgun stopped. His eyes focused across the street. Rats and Vultures devoured the remains of a human body. A closer look revealed the traitor had met his fate. Karma. Death. He had been eaten alive. A dog carcass laid close to the traitor’s remains. A pack of dogs had attacked. He killed one. A baseball bat laid nearby. Bloodied. The teenage boy picked it up. The family circled the remains. The vultures flew away. The rats continued to scavenge the remnants of the dog and the traitor. A backpack contained the supplies the thief stole. A woman grabbed it. Several cans of food. Thief! The young boy urinated on his rat-infested body. Traitor! The family smirked. Good riddance.
The family continued their plight through the city. Optimism. They walked. Alert. The words on a building revealed the answer to their biggest question: “Bank of Boise.” They were in Boise! They had reached their destination! They were alive! They made it! They were Home! They knew Paleskins had a stronghold in Boise. But where were they? No signs of life. The streets were barren. They stood in awe. Confused. Concerned.
The family walked up the decrepit concrete stairs of the bank and hid behind two large concrete pillars. No words. Their eyes said it all. Where was everyone? They had hiked over a thousand treacherous miles. They made it. They were Home. Joy. Accomplishment. Bewilderment.
They sat behind the pillars, reading each other’s eyes like a novel. Nobody said a word. Americans primarily quit talking as a form of communication in the mid 21st century.
Even before the war, words had mostly become obsolete. Technology had made mind-reading a reality. A small earpiece could extract thought and transfer it to a hand-held communication device called a “governor.” Governors enabled thoughts to be sent to anyone in the world at any time with a blink of an eye.
The government required every American citizen to own a governor. It replaced identification cards, driver’s licenses, social security cards, birth certificates etc. and was a person’s only form of ID. If a person was caught without their governor, they were arrested.
The devices were advertised as innovative technology, but the government used them as a form of state-controlled media to send digitized propaganda to the masses daily. Governors ensured thought-control over the populace. They were classrooms, churches, televisions, clubs, libraries, meeting places, etc.: all regulated by the government.
People rarely left their houses. The workforce had been almost completely automated by 2030. Everything from entertainment to shopping to medical care was done online from home. Even vacations were usually virtual.
Those who weren’t completely brainwashed by the government’s governors were “controlled” by the vaccination programs that began in 2025. A staged plague-like epidemic enabled the government to force every American citizen to submit to a series of mandatory vaccinations. The vaccines were dosed with mind-altering drugs that had hypnotic effects and ensured submissiveness. The vaccinations also genetically engineered their recipients, eliminating the alpha gene in white males.
A noise! People. The family froze. The man with the shotgun peeked from behind the pillar. It was a pack of Muds. Muds? The Muds were armed. They grunted back and forth. The biggest one slapped the smallest one on the back of the head. The pack laughed like hyenas. The Muds were unaware of the Paleskins hidden behind the bank’s large pillars. They didn’t act like a people in a hostile area. However, these were Muds. They were known for being heinous, not smart. Vicious, not wise. Cruel, not cunning.
The gang of Muds disappeared around the next corner. Their loud voices echoed off the buildings. The discovery evoked unease within the family. They thought they were Home. But with Muds in the city, this wasn’t Home. Hell.
The family pondered. Boise was supposed to be the safe haven for Paleskins. Muds casually roamed the streets. This couldn’t be Home. Devastated. They had risked their lives. Family members had died. If Boise wasn’t Home, where was Home? Did Home exist? The family squatted behind the pillars of the bank. Time passed. Nothing. More time passed. Nothing. There was no going back. There was nothing to go back to. This was the Home they sought. But this wasn’t Home. With Muds in the area, it wasn’t safe. They must continue northwesterly. They must!
The man with the shotgun came from behind the pillar and walked down the stairs. The family followed. They cautiously strolled down the streets of downtown Boise. They had food. They had weapons. They were well rested. They were alive. They must find Home. They must!
With stealth, they made their way through the city blocks. Many of the buildings were badly damaged by fire. The further into the city they traveled, the more destruction they saw. A major battle had obviously ensued at some point. In every major city they had traveled through, it was the same. The outskirts of the cities were somewhat intact. The inner cities were destroyed.
The Last War began in the inner cities. The United States was mired in the worst depression in the history of the country. Unemployment was over 50 percent. National debt was so high that other countries refused to trade with the U.S. The dollar wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on. Social services were broke. Inner-city blacks had been controlled by the government through their welfare systems. When the welfare checks stopped, blacks hit the streets in a violent rage, reaping chaos upon society. Whites had been dumbed down via media manipulation, government deception, and mind-altering vaccinations. Without the government to send in the troops and a brainwashed, unarmed populace, citizenry was at the mercy of the violent blacks. Whites were completely defenseless, and millions were slaughtered. When Whites did fight back, before the war officially began, they were arrested and charged with “hate crimes.”
What took centuries to build, blacks destroyed within a matter of years. When the system collapsed into total chaos, the globalist elites emigrated. They took their schematic corruption to other lands to start over, leaving American citizens at the mercy of their corrupt creation.
The Blacks rioted, looted, burned, and destroyed their own habitat. And like a virus, their destruction spread to suburbia. Whites were prey to the violent predators. Unarmed, submissive and brainwashed, they were helpless.
The family continued through the remnants of Boise. They were in an area of the city that had been badly damaged. Their senses were heightened. Danger lurked. Life was death. They walked as close to the burned and ravished structures as they could. Out of sight, out of mind. The middle of the street provided no cover. Only Muds walked down the middle of the street. The sound of birds were deafening. Caw! Caw! They feasted on the unending food supply of bugs and insects. The sun peeped through the clouds. The day was nice. Warm. They had to escape the city. They must!
No place to hide. Their pace was fast. They must remove themselves from vulnerability. A four-way corner. Grunts. Moans. Muds! They spotted the family. They pointed and grunted. The Paleskin family ran. No place to hide. The Muds gave chase. The family ducked into a partially-collapsed building. They hid. The Muds approached. Grunts. The family readied for battle. Ten Muds. They grunted with anger.
A Mud peered his head into the building where the family hid. Small bones decorated his nose and ears. The family was quiet. The man with the shotgun lay in wait. A trap. The Mud stepped into the building. BOOM! The shotgun slug struck him in the neck and severed his head from his body. He fell. The rest of the Muds grunted. Two Muds each grabbed an arm of the headless torso. They dragged the body down the street, leaving a trail of dark red blood. The man with the shotgun watched as the gang retreated. The Muds looked back several times during their retreat. They grunted with confusion.
The family exited through a large hole in the back of the building. They were on another street. Like the rest of the city, it was overwhelmed with vegetation and rodents. A mulberry tree was grew from a crack in the road. The blackness of the charred buildings were covered by green vines. Rats squealed. Mice squeaked. Roaches shrilled. Cats meowed. Dogs barked. Crows cawed. Birds chirped. But no howls from the Muds.
The man with the shotgun led the Paleskins through the city streets. Deterioration was less with every step. They were exiting the inner-city. Suburbia. They stopped. Vine covered buildings lined both sides of the streets. At the end of the street stood a gang of Muds. The family turned around. Muds at the other end of the street. Like cockroaches, the Muds seeped through the holes and doors of the structures that lined the street. They were were everywhere. Trapped! The man pumped the shotgun. The family raised their combat weapons. The Muds began to grunt louder and louder. They circled. Closer. Closer. The Muds raised their weapons. Charged. Attacked. War!
The shotgun exploded. And exploded. And exploded. The Muds grunted. And attacked. And howled. The family fought. Battle. War. Death. Fifty versus ten. Blood coated the street. Bloodied steel made blood-stained tracers through the sky with every swing. A Paleskin female was dragged away by her hair. She screamed. She fought. A Paleskin child was dragged away. Bloodied. She tried to scream. Mute. The Muds disappeared into the buildings with woman and child in tow. Blood everywhere. Two family members dead. Two wounded. Two missing. Several Muds lay dead in the street. The family fought valiantly. The strong survived. They must escape. They must!
The Paleskins ran along the street. They traveled north. Then west. Then north. Buildings became houses. Houses became countryside. They escaped. They came to an old house. The man with the shotgun investigated. It had been looted. Broken windows. Vacant. They entered the house. Dressed their wounds. Regrouped. Reloaded the shotgun with the last five shells. Prepared.
The teenage boy had a large gash on his face. The man with the shotgun had cuts on his hands from the Muds desperate attempts to take the shotgun. They all carried the scars of battle. Two men. A teenage boy. A child. Two women. A family. They ate. Drank water. Searched the house. Rested. No sleep. Anxiety. Fear. Sadness. No hope. No Home. Pain. Confusion. Prayers.
The six family members rested for the night. Odd sounds from the city. Disbelief. They had arrived, but they weren’t Home. Muds were everywhere. They controlled Boise. No Paleskins. The men took turns with the shotgun while the family rested.
Morning arrived. The house was cold. All were shivering. Breath could be seen. They ate. No more time to rest. This was hell, not Home. They continued their journey. They must!
The man with the shotgun led the way. The other man in tow. The family between. Trees everywhere. No howls. Rugged terrain. Mountains. Cold weather. No screams. The family moved northwesterly. No talking. No hope. No Home. No destination.
The family hiked for hours. No Muds. No Paleskins. No people. Hunger. Thirst. Exhaustion. Sore feet. Wounds. Hopelessness. Hate. Emotional turmoil. Atop a rocky hill, the man with the shotgun stopped. The rest joined beside him. There was a cluster of structures. A small town at one time. Smoke billowed from one of the chimneys. Home? All the eyes exhibited the same glimmers of hope and fear. They sought refuge under a nearby tree that was surrounded by large rocks. From behind the rocks the men surveyed the area while the family rested and grabbed a bite to eat.
The two men signaled to the family to stay put. They cautiously made their way down the slope towards the settlement. The smell of burned cedar filled the chilled air. Alertly, with weapons readied, they reached the bottom of the hill. The town was now in full view as they stood at its edge. The men approached twenty dilapidated houses and a couple of crumbling buildings.
The door to the house with the smoking chimney opened. A Paleskin female walked out of the door and eyed the men. She grunted and motioned for the men to come inside. The men looked at each other. The woman smiled and again pointed inside the door. They followed the woman into the house. The smell was nauseating. Several cries from children. The woman went to a back bedroom and grunted loudly at the children. An overwhelming odor of feces, vomit and body odor. The woman slammed the door to muffle the cries. She came back to the room and smiled. She sat down on a makeshift bed. Flies were everywhere. She lifted one leg up on the bed, slightly exposing her vagina. She was bare foot, dressed in a knee-length dress, with several rips and stains. The men stared. The woman smiled, several teeth missing. She spread her legs wider. Flies everywhere. Cries. Stench. The woman lifted her other leg up on the bed, fully exposing her vagina. She let out a small grunt followed by a grin. The men weren’t interested in sex. The children’s cries continued. Several flies buzzed around the woman. The bedroom door opened and the source of the cries appeared. Two kids. Mudlets. The woman grunted loudly and pointed for the kids to get back to the room. The men left quickly.
The two men hurriedly paced back across the small town to the base of the hill. The woman followed closely behind, grunting frantically. The men heard screams from the hilltop. Howls. The woman continued to chase the men, with her dress lifted as she pointed towards the house. Howls. The man with the metal weapon turned and charged the woman. She ran. The Paleface men quickly climbed the hill. They reached the tree. Blood. Guts. Death.
The men went back down the hill. Four Muds. One Mudshark. Two Mudlets. Hesitantly, the two Paleskins retreated. Howls. Grunts. No food. No water. No family. No Home. No hope. Prayers. The man with the shotgun walked northwesterly. The other man followed with a steal weapon in hand. They had to find Home. They must!
***
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Hewitt E. Moore has published two fictional novels: White Guilt and Vengeance is Ours: An Ethnic Conflict Novel. He has contributed to several notable sites, including The Occidental Observer, Counter-Currents, and Russia Insider. Hewitt is a contributing editor for Affirmative Right. He can be reached via his Twitter account here.
