East of Wulkow, Brandenburg, sometime in late February
Every time Wolfgang's food stock ran out, he had done longer with it. He noticed that every time, and this time was no different. When he thought about the effects of this on civilisation, he concluded that it would be a reset. The few survivors would become hunters and gatherers, first individually and then in a group phase. Then the larger groups who would get to fertile land would settle there and try to get the hang of farming. Once that would go well, development would continue. Christ knows how long it would take, but it could take shorter because the groundwork was there. Since he went out, he'd seen no change in nature. There were animals, plants and crops were growing as usual, and livestock still remained, if in vastly reduced numbers.
Food could be acquired from animals walking around, but occasionally Wolfgang ventured into houses and checked the cupboard for something canned. The last few times didn't turn out anything succesful, but that didn't dissuade him from not trying in a town he'd never been before. This time it was Jerichow, which was more than a pissant village. A few proper roads crossed it, as well as a railway. He'd overlooked it before and saw people cross, but didn't bother to steal from them or kill them. What if they were armed, or what if someone else rolled up? Self-preservation was key, even if it gave him a bare minimum of human contact. From a bush he'd warn passers-by, and once he threw a bandage at a couple with a wounded man. It wasn't much, but it reaffirmed his existence in this world. That he wasn't a ghost in a giant empty landscape. It gave him a peace of mind to know and realise he could still be killed. It meant he hadn't been yet.
In any case, it was time to get mobile again. So Wolfgang broke up his little encampment, packed the pegs and wire in his bag, rolled up the blanket and shelter-halves, and went on his way. Slowly he crouched and walked through the little woodland, using his autumn camouflage kit to the fullest as he was watching around him and slowly moved until he reached the end of it. He was looking over the village of Wulkow, which was small and off the beaten track. He'd seen the odd stranger pass by, but it would make a good and undisturbed hideout for next winter provided he didn't make much noise. The open ground was dangerous, so he advanced his pace past the road, trees, and fields until he reached the next major body of trees and walked through that. Alert as ever, he walked through the woods and kept a close eye on the road next to him. There could be a straggler, or worse, bandits passing by. He lived and let live, even in times as these, but would not stand for anybody snooping as he went into the town. Right next to the town entrance, he waited and looked closely at the road. If the coast was clear, he'd go in. If it wasn't, he'd sit back with a loaded rifle.
Every time Wolfgang's food stock ran out, he had done longer with it. He noticed that every time, and this time was no different. When he thought about the effects of this on civilisation, he concluded that it would be a reset. The few survivors would become hunters and gatherers, first individually and then in a group phase. Then the larger groups who would get to fertile land would settle there and try to get the hang of farming. Once that would go well, development would continue. Christ knows how long it would take, but it could take shorter because the groundwork was there. Since he went out, he'd seen no change in nature. There were animals, plants and crops were growing as usual, and livestock still remained, if in vastly reduced numbers.
Food could be acquired from animals walking around, but occasionally Wolfgang ventured into houses and checked the cupboard for something canned. The last few times didn't turn out anything succesful, but that didn't dissuade him from not trying in a town he'd never been before. This time it was Jerichow, which was more than a pissant village. A few proper roads crossed it, as well as a railway. He'd overlooked it before and saw people cross, but didn't bother to steal from them or kill them. What if they were armed, or what if someone else rolled up? Self-preservation was key, even if it gave him a bare minimum of human contact. From a bush he'd warn passers-by, and once he threw a bandage at a couple with a wounded man. It wasn't much, but it reaffirmed his existence in this world. That he wasn't a ghost in a giant empty landscape. It gave him a peace of mind to know and realise he could still be killed. It meant he hadn't been yet.
In any case, it was time to get mobile again. So Wolfgang broke up his little encampment, packed the pegs and wire in his bag, rolled up the blanket and shelter-halves, and went on his way. Slowly he crouched and walked through the little woodland, using his autumn camouflage kit to the fullest as he was watching around him and slowly moved until he reached the end of it. He was looking over the village of Wulkow, which was small and off the beaten track. He'd seen the odd stranger pass by, but it would make a good and undisturbed hideout for next winter provided he didn't make much noise. The open ground was dangerous, so he advanced his pace past the road, trees, and fields until he reached the next major body of trees and walked through that. Alert as ever, he walked through the woods and kept a close eye on the road next to him. There could be a straggler, or worse, bandits passing by. He lived and let live, even in times as these, but would not stand for anybody snooping as he went into the town. Right next to the town entrance, he waited and looked closely at the road. If the coast was clear, he'd go in. If it wasn't, he'd sit back with a loaded rifle.
