The Hurricane

The hurricane came to our town and left us with shreds of everything that made this place home. It took our shelter into itself, and spit it back out, useless. It ate the souls of men by the score. Our livestock numbers were reduced greatly; some of the animals that were not sucked into the tempest were rendered useless by the poison it took with it from the refinery it had visited before it came to us. Nature had never been so cruel to our people before. We were left with nothing that resembled our lives prior to the event, and we did not have nearly enough resources to rebuild even the shoddiest habitats. Our existence may as well have ended. Some of us envied those who perished in the storm. Others were not envious, but just sad because so many of their family members were taken from them. There were a few who were out of touch with the whole mess. These folk attempted to carry on with life, pretending that nothing happened. One cannot use a water pump that is in pieces, especially not when the supply it is connected to has been fouled by this storm, a storm that left behind everything bad and took everything good.

Our shattered people were coming to grips with the truth: by the next full moon, there would be even less of us than there were now. By the next harvest--there would be no next harvest. No food, and no one to plant for the next season. Some people were very bitter. All of our religious leaders had died during the catastrophe. Some had even taken their lives prior to, sensing that all would be lost.

There was a village just south of where we lived. A scout climbed to the top of the highest point of our lands and confirmed what we suspected. It was true, this village had been untouched by the storm. Now we had to do what must be done. But what was it that had to be done?