Samuel hadn't heard any voices for awhile so it was incredibly strange to hear two speaking to one another. The words were incoherent mumbling due to his diminishing socialization, but it was definitely English. He remembers enough to know that. The voices were unmistakably human; how could someone ever forget the sound of another human being? The sounds were coming from the next house he was going to scavenge.
There wasn't a door at this house. It rested on the ground beside the small concrete stairs. The house looked abandoned just like every other house on this old road. It was rare that he found anyone hunkering down in just a house. Sam let himself in. A flight of stairs at the north end of the room broke off from a short hallway that looked to lead to the kitchen. On the east wall, two doors--still on their hinges, sat closed with rubble against them. It looked just like every other house he had rummaged through in the past. Sunlight beamed though gaping holes in the structure. Old broken furniture laid about the room and the whole room was coated in a layer of dirt and trash. A bookshelf stood erect on the wall; intact with charred books and papers resting on it. Burnt items were hardly ever useful.
Dust swirled up into Sam's face as he tipped the shelf over. A musty smell instantly filled the room as he grabbed his already dirty shirt to shield his mouth and nose.
A sneeze echoed throughout the room. It jolted him from the trance from the monotony of traveling house to house, and he realized the main reason he came into the house. Zoning back in, he again heard the conversation still mumbling along.
The voices got louder as Sam began his ascent up the stairs. Each step he took there was moan that screamed out from under his feet. He concentrated on the voices, still incoherent. He reached the second floor and immediately hid his mouth and nose from a horrific stench that attacked him. His eyes began to water as he felt the smell seeping through his fingers and into his mouth. The taste of charred, rotting flesh landed on his tongue. He gagged. Sam lunged for the first door he saw and opened it. The smell instantly weakened with a gust of wind and bright sunlight that hit his face.
He shielded his eyes from the noonday sun as he tried to regain his composure, focusing on why he came up stairs. The voices. Sam's eyes finally focused on a scorched bed laying against a dresser in the closest corner of the space. There wasn't much a bedroom left, most of it lay in rubble in what looked to be the garage beneath.
"So what is it that is happening now?," one of the voices asked. Sam's ears perked being able to hear an actual question. He moved slowly to the next door. The voices were clear now.
"It is traveling at a very fast speed and it seems to be some kind of nuclear warhead that has been launched by..." the voices went silent again. Sam pushed the door open. There was a chair sitting in front of a television that was illuminating the black screen. There wasn't much light in the room but Sam could hear, and slightly see, a video tape eject from the VCR. He could smell the aroma that attacked him earlier, though it wasn't as bad the second time around.
Sam quickly realized he wasn't alone in the room. There was a head of burned hair just above a large wing-back chair. The pungent smell was definitely coming from the charred person. Sam ignored it and went for the tape. He approached the old television set, squatted, and pulled the tape free. He looked at its edge.
News Recording: 9/29/2078
He knew that 2078 was at least two years ago, but hadn't realized that it was that long ago when he had lost his wife and son to the same blast that stopped the broadcast.
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