And thus began the long trek down frozen roads and big mountains of ice and rock in the distance. The old house was not too far, just about a day on foot. Still, dusk was setting in and Doc found shelter in a cave that lay about a mile from town. It was dirty and grimy and graffiti from older times could be seen like cave paintings from even longer ago. He slept, shivering from the cold. Even though he had made a fire, it did not seem to help much. There wasn’t much fuel to put into the fire as all things which could be burned were stripped away years ago. Not only did the frigid temperatures keep him up, but the howling of wolves didn’t make it a lot easier to try and sleep. He clutched the gun in his hand subconsciously. Wolves were common now, more so than they used to be. He knew they were not coming for him, but he still felt uneasy. After some time he finally slept.

  He dreamt of the old world, of his work in the office. Sounds of colleagues arguing about what they would do for the weekend, others bragging about new stuff they bought. He could hear the sound of the coffee machine's low rumbling and grinding sounds early in the morning, and the warm earthy smell that emitted from it. The empty documents and hastily finished presentations felt like a stressful distant nightmare. Yet, even in sleep he could tell it was fake. When he woke up he just sat in his blanket of woven deer pelts. The dampness of the cave made him feel colder. He thought of his dream which he could half remember. He thought that, while this world was harsh, there was no satisfaction in the world before, no goal, and no soul. Everyday was the same back then, a numb life with no struggle and no reward. In a way, he was happy that he had some fame in this place.

  Doc opened his bag and took out of it a carton of old rations, and he ate a small brick of compressed wheat and palm fat. It tasted alright. He stashed the carton away again and rolled up his blanket and secured it to his bag. The fire still had some embers so he kicked some snow over it, and then he walked away. The sun was bright and he found it hard to see. There had fallen no snow that night, and there were no clouds in the pale blue sky. Doc hiked on an old mountain road. It was not asphalted, and although it had frozen, it was still pretty walkable. Logging in the area did not extend far from the snowstone town border, not in these times. The trees formed a thicket through which nothing could be seen. Dark and foreboding borders which split the road from the dangers beyond sight.

  He walked till he reached the top of a mountain and that mountain was no true mountain at all, for it had no top. A large black gaping hole with decrepit machinery and smoke-blackened buildings. The old coal mine. It was midday by now and he need only to walk around the large pit to get to the house, for it belonged to the foreman in the days when coal was still pulled from the ground. The mine was large, it seemed as if it was made by giants, but it was made by man. Doc walked along the edge and sometimes kicked out in front of him small pebbles and rubble. He was worried. He was worried about the kid, and about what would become of him if he would survive the disease. He thought that in this world it might be better just to die, for there was little to live toward. Then he thought about why he himself went on travelling through lands he had known before, but could not recognize now. He let his backpack slide to the ground and opened it, and he grabbed a mason jar with a clear, pungent smelling liquid in it. He took a sip, and expressed his opinion of the drink with a sour face. After wiping his beard with the sleeve of his coat, he secured his backpack to his back again. The house was not far, he could see it in the distance. It appeared slightly more overgrown since he last saw it, but in a fine shape still. There was a stash of goods hidden under one of the floorboards, and he hoped that it was not discovered yet, for it would prove beneficial to him if it was there.

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  The door creaked as he entered the house, there were no tracks of animal or human nearby and it eased his mind a little. As he stepped further into the building, dust fell from the boards above him and as he looked up it fell into his eyes. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers and blinked a few times. Before him was an almost empty room with only one chair and a table and an old brick fireplace. There was no sound, inside or outside. It was cold and he could see his breath. Light shone through the broken windows. He stepped towards them and looked out to the looming mountains and the dark sky. It was going to snow soon, so he tended to closing the wooden shutters first, and then he focused on getting a fire lit. With a hopeful expression he removed a loose floorboard, and there was a hidden treasure waiting for him. Dried birch, a pistol with a fully loaded magazine, and some cans of pork and beans. There was no water, but this did not bother him. After placing the dried firewood into the dusty fireplace, he lit it on fire and slowly the room warmed up. It was getting dark outside and he could hear the wind howling around the building. Tired from the trek that day he’d lie down on the floor without putting down a bedroll and soon after he was asleep. When he awoke the next morning the fire had long gone out and it was so silent that he could almost hear his own bones. The morning he spent observing the mine for wild game or birds which might have come out to scavenge after the storm. None came. The day he spent collecting dry wood for the fire, and in the evening he ate the pork and beans he found before. Darkness set upon the land again and he slept.

  That night he awoke to the sound of scraping against the wooden door. Slowly he reached for the nickel plated pistol from the floorboard stash. He cocked the hammer and slowly moved towards the entrance of the house. The door slowly opened and there stood a large gray wolf. He aimed his pistol at the beast. Both stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Its breath fogged the air and its muscles tensed. The eyes had a burning and hungry gaze to them. The wolf stepped forward but his paw did not touch the ground before Doc pulled the trigger, and the wolf’s legs gave in from under him and he collapsed to the ground instantly in a large muted thud. Doc walked up to the slain beast to see if it was indeed slain, and it was. No breathing, nor heartbeat came from its carcass. He thought there might be more coming, so he locked the door and muttered to himself that it was stupid to forget to lock it in the first place. He went back to sleep.

  The next few days he spent skinning the wolf, and with thread and needle he made its head into a sort of cap or hat. By the time he was done he looked like a mountain man of old, not altogether out of place in the lands he was residing in.

  When in the morning he went out to walk around the mine, he noticed large black plumes of smoke in the distance. It worried him as it was in the same direction as snowstone, so he ran back inside to fetch the binoculars he had put in his backpack. Rummaging through the pack quickly he couldn’t find it. He looked through his stuff feverishly multiple times, counting every object in the hope that the next count would be different. It gave him a headache so he reached for his flask of water, and while he tilted his head up to take a swig, he saw his binoculars hanging by the leather straps. Running to grab the thing he almost tripped over his own feet but he stabilised himself on time. He took the binoculars and ran out to climb a tree. A large fir at the edge of the mine was big enough to see over the treeline, and he climbed it fast and recklessly. After climbing up he looked through the dirty lenses of the binoculars to take a good look at the distant town.

  He focused the binoculars and he saw Snowstone burned down and there were corpses hanging from poles and many bodies littered the streets. Doc looked at the scene with a shocked expression and he felt paralyzed. He shook his body into motion again and almost fell out of the tree on his attempt to climb down as quickly as possible. He ran to the house to fetch his gear and set out hastily to the town to investigate for himself if the kid was still alive.