I held my shotgun close as I observed the battle in the distance. There were foreign men out there, fighting over this contested ground. Ground worth less than nothing, yet fought for with incredible ferocity. The dog began barking, and I shouted for her to stop. She was loyal, and very brave, but damn, was she stupid sometimes.
I stepped outside cautiously, staring at the bleak, grey horizon. Walking around the small farm house to the pens out back, I fed the horses - two of them, stronger than any of the others - and the pigs - about the only thing I had to eat aside from the occasional leek or potato and canned food I'd been stocking since news had first reached my family about the meteor. Just like ammo, you had to load up on the stuff when you knew something was coming.
Family: the word made me laugh bitterly to myself. The world had stolen my family from me. My son was sold into slavery, and my wife was killed trying to save him. I considered the issue only a little while longer before getting on and checking the perimeter. The dog barked at something as I walked around the front of the house; it turned out to be just a rabbit. I would have taken it for what small bit of meat could be salvaged from its small body, but the shotgun would have obliterated it and the revolver was still in the cabin.
I then got to the business of cleaning the car. I'd been lucky enough to have some gas laying around for the lawn mower and the plows we'd used to have, which I'd quickly poured into the car and what remained kept in storage after the hit. I checked all of the car's vitals, as I called them, and made sure it would start up, then locked the doors and tied chains around the tires. Nobody would be getting away with this vehicle without a considerable amount of trouble.
I retired to my house, wrote a little bit down in a journal, and then just sat there, thinking about what had been.