It had been five years since the incident. Five years since the outbreak, since the war, since civilization had crumbled. Now, only a few small isolated populations survive. I was one of those lucky ones. Though, perhaps "lucky" isn't the most accurate word choice since it's still a struggle to survive.
For one thing, food is hard to come across. Not impossible, mind you, but still difficult. If you're lucky, you might find some canned fruit or vegetables, or maybe even some bottled water. Usually, however, meals consist of whatever can be caught or picked. It's surprising how quickly one can get used to the taste of squirrel meat.
There's also the danger being attacked. My group and I would have to remain alert for any feral dogs roaming the area. Normally, they'd be little more than a nuisance since they had the habit of stealing any food we managed to get that day. That didn't make them any less dangerous, however, due to them having no issue with fighting to the death over a meal. Other feral animals were also an issue. Often just things like stray cats or wild coyotes, but we have run into wolf packs and even a wild bear at one point.
But, that's not the most dangerous thing to face since the incident. No, that would be them. Those horrible monsters. Ever since the outbreak, they became the biggest obstacle against our survival.
First off, they are violent. Unimaginably so. At least a coyote attacks to either defend itself or to get food. Them? They'd attack with little to no provocation. Even worse is that they'd kill just for the sake of killing. I'd seen them tear apart a member of our group only to leave the remains behind. And, they're known to completely ignore other creatures just to go after us specifically. It's as though they are driven by some sort of deep-seated hatred towards us. Like they wouldn't stop until every inch of land was stained with our blood.
They tend to travel in small groups, though sometimes they split up into pairs or tread through the area alone. It's fairly easy to take them down when they are by themselves. They lack any sharp teeth or claws, though they are smart enough to use anything they can get their hands on as a weapon. However, normally if there's one, you can guarantee that there are others nearby.
Those things often lumber about, shambling aimlessly with a dull almost empty expression on their faces. That is, until they see you. Then, their expression changes. Their faces contort to that of rage and disgust. Next thing you know, they lunge at you in an attempt to tear you limb from limb. It's worse when more than one attack at the same time. As they attack, they emit a series of angry shouts and screams not so different from a wild predator as it kills its prey. And, when they're lumbering about, they grunt and mutter at one another.
Each day, they are gaining territory over us. Our shelters have been destroyed, many innocent lives are lost, and they show no signs of stopping.
I wish the living would just leave us alone.